


it all looks so pretty from a distance

by jwangel



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anxiety Disorder, Connor Murphy & Zoe Murphy Reconciliation, Daddy Issues, Friends to Lovers, Heidi Hansen Tries, Jared Kleinman Is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25543780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jwangel/pseuds/jwangel
Summary: Connor Murphy isn’t someone Evan has spent a great deal of time thinking about.In his current situation, Evan can’t help it.AU: Evan falls. Connor picks him back up.
Relationships: Evan Hansen/Connor Murphy
Comments: 29
Kudos: 112





	1. chapter one

This, Evan thinks, staring down at his laptop screen, is painful.

It’s torture.

This is what will kill him.

He lets his fingers move against the keyboard.

_Dear Evan Hansen: Today’s going to be an amazing day and here’s why._

Insert optimistic outlook here.

Evan is terrible at this part.

_Because today, all you have to do is just be yourself._

Evan bites his lip and stops typing.

It feels disingenuous. 

Because ‘being himself’ is the problem. 

He’s on two different types of medications and attending weekly therapy just to learn how to cope with it.

_But also confident. That’s important. And interesting. Easy to talk to. Approachable._

So, be the opposite of himself, is what he decides. 

Fake it until you make it.

Is that something?

_But mostly be yourself. That’s the big—_

This isn’t working, Evan thinks, jabbing at the delete button. 

Who is he kidding?

_That’s number one. Be yourself. Be true to yourself._

Evan grits his teeth and tries again.

*

“Have you been writing those letters?”

His mom appears in his doorway, watching him.

Evan wishes she wouldn’t.

“I started writing one.”

He works his jaw, feels his leg vibrate compulsively against his bed. 

“I’ll finish it at school,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

Her mouth quirks downward and her eyes roll up to the ceiling, exasperation stealing her breath.

Bending at the waist, she snags one of his hoodies from the floor, absentmindedly folding it before tossing it onto the foot of his bed.

“I don’t want another year of you sitting at home on your computer every Friday night, telling me you have no friends.”

She says it jokingly, like this is something they laugh about. 

Like there’s something humorous about _any of this_.

“Neither do I,” he says quietly.

He’s not sure what his face does just then, but it makes her face soften.

“Hey, I know.” She starts, her face brightening. “You can go around today and ask the other kids to sign your cast, how about that? That would be the perfect icebreaker, wouldn’t it?”

His mom folds a sharpie into his palm and Evan doesn’t even think twice before he’s agreeing, because the guilt and pain in her eyes just adds to the mess growing inside his own head and he can’t deal with both.

His mom smiles gently at him, reaches out and ruffles his hair like she used to when he was little.

“I’m proud of you already.”

Evan jerks away and her smile cracks.

The thing is, Evan knows he’s a massive disappointment. 

Knows it with an unshakeable sort of certainty that her plastered on smile and cooing way of speaking does little to distract from. 

But he doesn’t want to argue either.

Can’t stand the thought of being difficult.

So, he tucks the marker into his pocket.

He retreats.

*

In Evan’s opinion, good days are the ones in which he goes unnoticed. When he can keep his head down and make as few waves as possible. It’s lonely and isolating, but ultimately preferable to the alternative. Because when Evan does try, when he puts himself out there everything just feels like hard edges. He clashes; meets wrong and bounces off. He can’t make himself fit.

His thoughts always manage to outpace him, careening forward without his say so, endless possibilities lining up before him with increasingly dire consequences. The medications are supposed to help with that, supposed to put a stop to the negative ruminations, and relieve him from the worst of it.

And maybe he isn’t quite as paralyzed as he used to be in the face of even the most shallow of social interactions, but he’s a long shot from _normal_.

Sometimes he wonders what it’d be like if he were, if he were like other people his age.

Did they go about their days without a worry in the world? Were they just totally unencumbered by daily anxieties? Or were they just better at hiding it?

Or, Evan wonders, was he just completely alone?

*

Alana Beck is a nice girl in his grade.

Evan talks to her occasionally, not because they’re friends, but because they’re on the same academic track, and they’re both overly polite to a fault. 

She’s ambitious in a way Evan doesn’t fully relate to, a little oblivious and a little tone deaf, but she’s never been cruel.

She catches him in the hallway on his way to third period, chipper and bubbly and bright.

“Hey, how was your summer?”

Before Evan can even formulate a response, Alana is hijacking the conversation back with a self-assured smile.

“Mine was productive. I did three internships and 90 hours of community service.”

Prosocial behaviors are important for developing friendships, Evan can hear Dr. Sherman’s voice in his head. Take turns, be helpful, give compliments.

“I know. Wow.” Alana finishes, grinning.

Evan swallows and tries to smile back. “Yeah that’s, wow. That’s really impressive.”

“Even though I was so busy, I still made some great friends. Or, well, acquaintances, more like.”

“Do you want to maybe—” He cuts in, blushing when her eyes widen at the interruption. “I don’t know what you’re, um… Do you want to sign my cast?”

Her eyes scan down to his arm and she lets out a startled gasp.

“Oh my god. What happened to your arm?”

Evan gives a jerky nod, “Oh, well. I broke it. I was climbing a tree—”

Alana’s gaze goes unfocused almost immediately and she begins speaking over him, absentmindedly, as though she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.

“Oh, really? My grandma broke her hip getting into the bathtub in July. That was the beginning of the end, the doctors said. Because then she died.”

Evan isn’t entirely sure what he’s meant to say to that, but Alana’s attention seems to wander once again, and suddenly she’s looking over his shoulder.

“Happy first day,” she says, flashing him a sunny smile, before she’s walking off, leaving Evan with the distinct feeling that he’s missed something.

He turns and watches her go.

Alana Beck is a nice girl.

*

Jared is an asshole. 

He’s also all Evan’s got.

Most days, Evan amounts to little more than a chore to Jared, their association one of convenience and familiarity rather than anything deeper. 

Their moms were old friends and when Evan and Jared were younger, they had forced them to do everything together. Camps, birthday parties, family vacations. Evan can’t remember what it had been like at first. He thinks they must have gotten along okay. Jared had been a relative bossy kid, and at first their moms had thought it was cute that wherever Jared would lead him, Evan would follow. 

In middle school that all changed.

Jared had made other friends and Evan… hadn’t.

It was after that that Jared grew distant, almost caustic toward him.

Like Evan was an embarrassment.

Evan fiddles with the marker in pocket.

“Do you want to sign my cast?” He asks when Jared runs into him shortly after Alana disappears.

Jared snorts at the question, eyeing the pen with a bent eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”

Disappointment settles in the spaces between Evan’s ribcage.

He tries not to feel bitter about it. He retracts his hand and pockets the sharpie once again. Moping will do him no good. Jared would only see it as something else to ridicule him for.

He blows out a breath, head bowing, can feel himself withdrawing.

The sound of Jared’s footsteps fill the hallway and Evan’s about ready to swallow what’s left of his dignity for the day and disappear off to his own class when he hears it.

The smug and self-satisfied sound of Jared’s voice carrying through the hall.

“Hey, Connor.” 

Evan looks up.

*

Connor Murphy isn’t someone Evan has spent a great deal of time thinking about.

Evan’s seen him hiding in the library stacks after school, has caught sight of him smoking behind the bleachers at lunch, and had watched him shove his fist into Dylan Liedman’s stomach in freshman year after he made a blatantly homophobic comment about Connor’s nails.

They don’t cross paths often. Evan probably doesn’t even register on Connor’s radar.

He watches as Jared catches Connor’s attention as he turns into the hallway, long body slouched, eyes already narrowed into a glare. 

“I’m loving the new hair length.” Jared calls out, and his voice is sickly sweet, shit-eating grin in place. “Very school shooter chic.”

Connor abruptly comes to a stop.

Evan watches as Jared’s hands fly up in a gesture of surrender, sheepish smile now affixed to his face. “I was kidding. It was a joke.”

Connor’s face twists into a sneer and then suddenly his expression goes concerningly blank. “Yeah, no, it was funny. I’m laughing. Can’t you tell?” It’s then that Connor bares his teeth and leans into Jared’s space. “Am I not laughing hard enough for you?”

Evan feels his heartbeat speed up, feels agitated and ill at ease by the confrontation unfolding before him. 

There’s no reason for him to still be here, right? He should just leave. He could just leave right now, but he’s frozen.

Across the hall, Jared laughs nervously. 

Clearly at a loss, Jared rolls his eyes, and tries to play the moment off. 

“You’re such a freak,” he says, shaking his head, and then, before Connor can react, Jared takes off down the hall, his footsteps echoing loudly in his wake.

The silence that follows is stifling.

Evan can hardly believe Jared would take a shot at someone like Connor Murphy, can’t even begin to comprehend why he’d think it could end in anything other than disaster.

His eyes flicker back to see the other boy’s reaction and what he sees nearly has him swallowing his tongue.

Because Connor Murphy isn’t glaring at Jared’s retreating back, he’s glaring at _him_.

It’s hard to describe the noise that leaves him.

It’s not laughter by any means, but a brief and wheezy sort of “ha” that sounds like the air has been forced rapidly from his lungs.

It’s a terrible noise, one that has Evan grimacing, embarrassment increasing tenfold.

Across the hall, Connor Murphy appears to be seething. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

Something in Evan’s chest twists sharply when he realizes the question is directed at him. “What?”

Connor’s sneer somehow manages to become even more severe. “Stop fucking laughing at me.”

“I’m not,” Evan says quickly, heat rising to his face despite himself.

It’s one of his worst traits, the nervous laughter. He can’t help it, just comes out, but now Connor is approaching him like he’s the one who started all this, and Evan is still frozen, helpless to do anything but watch, pinned to the spot.

“You think I’m a freak?” The other boy asks getting right up into Evan’s face.

“No. I don’t-”

Connor interrupts him before he can explain. “I’m not the freak.”

“But I wasn’t-”

“You’re the fucking freak.” Connor spits and _shoves_ Evan so hard that he loses his balance completely, air knocked out of him as he lands hard onto the hallway floor, head knocking violently against the ground as he goes.

A sharp searing pain erupts at the back of his head and Evan hisses, ears ringing, craning his head away from the hard floor.

“Shit.” Connor’s voice sounds from somewhere above him.

Evan blinks dazedly at the sky. His skull throbs.

“Holy fuck, are you okay?” Connor asks, suddenly crouched down beside him. “Here, let me help you up.”

A hand clasps his arm and another curls carefully beneath his elbow then all at once Evan’s hauled into a standing position. His body complies well enough, but his head feels like he’s left it somewhere on the floor and the world spins violent for a moment.

He loses his footing almost immediately and only just manages to grab a hold of Connor’s arm before he can end up back on the floor. 

Evan hears his own breathing, frantic, unsteady, his chest heaving. He’s sucking it in, but not getting any air. Everything _hurts_.

In what feels like a matter of seconds, they seem to have managed to attract a small crowd. Evan can hear them, pressing closer, their voices a low rumble he feels underneath his skin.

Embarrassment creeps in hot and shameful in his gut and Evan feels himself reflexively lurch away from the other boy. He needs to get out of here. They’re all watching him now. _They’re watching_. Only Connor doesn’t let him get far, keeps his hand curled under Evan’s good arm, tugging him back.

“I-I’m fine!” Evan gasps, ducking his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “Thank you very much, it’s very kind of you, but you c-can, uh, you can, uh, just let me go—”

“You’re not fine,” Connor snaps, fingers squeezing just slightly to keep his hold firm. “You’re barely standing.”

Evan realizes he’s shaking. Can feel himself shaking, has to retreat to the back of his head and go through every single coping mechanism Dr. Sherman has ever tried to drill into his messed-up head and hope that one of them works. Count to ten, breathe through your nose, focus on your body, ground yourself—

Except none of it’s working.

None of it _works_.

“Okay, fuck this.” There’s an abrupt pressure on his arm, Connor’s voice in his ear goading him to move. “Let’s go.”

Without waiting, Connor takes a hold of his good wrist and begins tugging him down the hall, Evan stumbling after him, nearly falling again. Only, Connor catches him when he does, uses the arm he’s got looped around Evan’s waist to keep him upright and moving.

He thinks Connor’s taking him to the nurse’s office, or perhaps just to find a teacher to pawn him off on, but he leads Evan into the adjacent hall instead, and not a moment later, crowds Evan into a general use bathroom, slamming the door behind them, throwing the lock in place.

He lets Evan go, and Evan wobbles without the support, placing a hand against the nearest wall, heaving air into his lungs when he’s stable. He swallows down breath after breath until the pain in his chest recedes, until the panic eases into something controllable. Until he feels like his diaphragm is under his command, and he can slow down, take his face into his hands and try his best to quell his shaking.

“S-s-sorry,” Evan chokes out after several minutes pass, still hunched over, still breathing too hard, shaky and sweaty and on display. He takes a deep breath, trying to think. “You can go now. I-I won’t tell anyone. It was an, uh, an accident.” He barely gets the last word out before his lungs begin to burn in protest.

When Evan looks up, Connor is looking at him strangely, a wrinkle forming in the middle of his forehead and a downward turn to his lips.

“I’m not leaving you. You could be concussed.” Connor moves to where Evan is propped against the wall. “I should check your eyes. And uh, you…”

His hand returns to Evan’s elbow and gentle pressure guides his good arm up, and with his other hand Connor points a finger to the side of his own head. “Check for cuts. It’s hard to tell if you’re bleeding under your hair. Easy thing to miss.”

Evan heaves in another deep breath, and presses searching fingers into the tender knot forming at the back of his head without argument. 

He doesn’t find anything right away, which he supposes is a good thing, but he keeps feeling around anyway because he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and it’s completely possible that he’s missed something, and for all he knows he’s cracked his skull. 

The thought churns unpleasantly in Evan’s stomach.

“Can you look at me for a sec?” Connor asks suddenly, and what follows are a series of small, prompting touches that Evan doesn’t expect, can’t even begin to prepare for, fingers grasping lightly at his chin, tilting his head this way and that as pale blue eyes gaze searchingly into his own. Taken aback, Evan forgets what he’s meant to be doing, inhaling sharp and loud as he stills under the other boy’s attention, going pliant in his hands.

Connor Murphy isn’t someone Evan has spent a great deal of time thinking about.

In his current situation, Evan can’t help it.

Connor is taller than him, Evan notices, looking up into pretty eyes that crinkle at the corners and an expressive face that winces in sympathy as he examines Evan closely. There’s something undeniably attractive about his mouth, Evan decides, watching the other boy bite his lip in concentration. His hands are unexpectedly soft, fingers gentle against his face. 

Evan can’t remember a time where he’s been handled so carefully by another person.

Evan swallows thickly.

“Your pupils aren’t fucked at least,” Connor says with some relief after what feels like forever, finally pulling away, hands retreating. “You find anything?”

Without the distraction of Connor’s touch, Evan remembers himself and jerkily lifts a hand, flaring his fingers. “No blood.”

For once he’s glad his face gets red when he’s stressed out, only due to the fact that the blush he feels blossoming across his cheeks is at least well concealed.

Connor lets out a long sigh.

“Well, that’s a huge fucking relief.” And Evan can hear it, the relief in his voice, whatever tension built up in the other boy’s shoulders easing back. “Looks like you’re able to stand on your own feet now too.”

And Connor’s right. Taking stock of himself, Evan does feel more stable on his feet and his heartbeat feels steady now, no longer pounding in his chest.

So it’s ironic that right then the sound of the final bell echoes through the bathroom walls and Evan has to mentally steal himself against the waves of anxiety that flood him all over again.

Instead of panicking though, Evan forces himself back against the tiled wall and directs his gaze to the other boy. 

Connor stares back, curiosity in his gaze, maybe even a bit of defiance.

Neither of them saying anything for an uncomfortably long moment.

Evan breaks first, discomforted by the silence. “I wasn’t laughing at you by the way.”

His voice is barely loud enough to be audible, but Connor appears to hear him just fine.

“Is that right?” Connor says mockingly, but his smile isn’t unkind. There is a challenge in his eyes though, and Evan knows without a doubt that there is a right way and a wrong way of answering what Connor will say next. “What was so goddamn funny then?”

“You were looking at me,” Evan explains, feeling his face heat up. “And I don’t do well when I’m the center of attention. You saw how I— I don’t know what to— I don’t know what to do!” He pauses, and forces himself to take a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to laugh, it wasn’t about you. It just… it just came out.”

He thinks Connor might fight him further on the matter, call bullshit or something worse, but instead, Connor blows out a breath and looks away.

“What’s your name again?”

“Evan. Evan Hansen.” 

There’s another pause. Connor is staring at the ceiling now, chewing at his lip like he’s thinking something over.

“Personally,” Connor starts, not looking at Evan, gaze still directed upward. “I’ve had a little too much excitement for one day.”

His head tilts toward Evan then, eyebrow quirked. “Do you want to get the fuck out of here? Cus’ I sure as hell do.”

“Wh-what?” Evan asks weakly.

“Do you want to get out of here? You’re clearly in no shape to go back to class.”

Evan shakes his head insistently. “That— I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” Connors says with a dismissive shrug. “There’s literally almost nothing stopping you. I can drive you home too if it’s a big deal.”

But he can’t. Because if he did, his mom would find out, and if she did then she might leave work because she was worried or mad and then Evan would have to explain what happened and she’d be worried all over again and sad and _disappointed_.

“I don’t—”

“Would you rather me take you to the office?” Connor asks quickly. “Cus’ I can do that, but I’d have figured you’d want to lay low after all that.”

Evan doesn’t know.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment.

His stomach feels like it’s trying to eat itself.

Somewhere in the time Evan spends thinking, Connor fishes a pack of cigarettes out of his backpack, and lights up by the windows. He doesn’t look annoyed exactly, but he has a pinched look on his face, like he’s fighting off a headache, quietly smoking in the corner as the gears in Evan’s head turn.

He can feel the panic coming back up, so he pushes it down again, clenching his fists and biting back at his own paranoid thoughts with a viciousness.

When he dares to look, Connor is grimacing around a cigarette, his eyes on the lighter in his hand.

Connor inhales. Exhales.

Evan tries to do the same.

“You’re not supposed to do that in here,” Evan says, trying desperately to sound calm.

Connor’s lips twitch upward and he laughs, casually flicks ash onto the tiled floor. “You gonna report me, Hansen?”

Evan doesn’t say anything to that, but he thinks it’s obvious to both of them that he won’t.

He thinks about Connor’s offer again.

“If I really am concussed I probably shouldn’t be left alone.”

Connor hums around his cigarette, and exhales. “You can come to my house if you want. My mom is supposed to be at some spiritual wellness workshop or some bullshit today. House will be empty.” 

Evan thinks this might be a very bad idea.

He doesn’t think this is what Dr. Sherman meant by leaving his comfort zone and trying new things.

He looks at Connor and nods slowly.

“Okay.”

*

This is weird, Connor thinks, unlocking the front door of his house and waving Evan through. This is really fucking weird.

He’s not sure exactly what possessed him into organizing this little play date. He thinks Hansen’s sad puppy dog eyes have something to do with it. He knows guilt is definitely a factor, but if he were being honest with himself he’s done a lot worse and felt a lot less shit about it, so the excuse doesn’t really hold up.

“You have a really nice room.” Evan says, following obediently behind Connor as he leads the other boy into his bedroom. His voice is soft, measured like he’s not used to using it.

Flopping back onto his bed, still unmade from the night before, Connor bounces on the mattress once, twice before propping himself up on an elbow. “I really don’t, but thanks.”

Evan makes a low noise in the back of his throat like he doesn’t agree, but leaves it at that.

“You have a lot of books.” He says, wondering over to the bookcase in the back of the room. His eyes seem to scan every title, interest clear in the way his face seemed to light up. “Have you read all of these?”

“Most, but not all of them. You read a lot?”

“Only non-fiction.” Evan answers quickly, pulling at the spine of one book before carefully sliding it back in place.

“What do you read about?” Connor asks.

“Trees.”

“Okay…” Connor drawls, thinking Evan might elaborate, and realizing he shouldn’t be surprised when he doesn’t.

The conversation lulls and once Evan is finished perusing his book collection he turns back to Connor and seems to realize that Connor is watching him. The other boy falters, cheeks flushing a soft pink, a hand coming up to rub nervously at the back of his neck.

“So,” Connor starts, desperate to break the tension. “What happened to your arm?”

The other boy averts his gaze quickly, glancing at the opposite wall like there’s something more interesting to look at there, posture stiffening. “Oh. I, um, I fell out of a tree actually.”

Connor thinks he must have misheard. “You fell out of a tree?”

Evan looks up sheepishly, a nervous tilt of his head and a tight smile affixed to his face. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, something low and choked before he hums vaguely in agreement.

He should probably leave it at that.

Instead what he says is, “That is the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

It’s too harsh, Connor realizes, as soon as the words leave his mouth. 

And right on cue, Evan’s face takes on an almost pained expression, self-loathing and resignation battling for dominance all at once. He shrugs and lets out an awkward, unhappy sort of laugh. 

“I know.”

Connor watches the way Evan refuses to look any higher than the floor after that and a bubble of shame rises up hot in his stomach. He can tell from the hunch in his shoulders and the way he suddenly won’t make eye contact, that Evan thinks that he should’ve known better than to get comfortable with him. That he regrets letting his defenses down in the first place.

Connor is used to other people feeling disappointed in him.

But this is somehow worse.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” Connor says quickly, sitting up. “Ignore me.”

He definitely doesn’t mean most of the shit that comes out of his mouth, doesn’t understand what happens to him when the words just seem to come out on their own without his permission. His filter fucking _sucks_.

“It’s fine,” Evan says flatly and Connor wants to shake himself.

Connor’s never been good with words. He thinks he might be even worse at apologies. 

“Look, I wanted to say that I’m sorry about earlier,” Connors says slowly, gentling his tone. “For pushing you,” he clarifies when Evan’s expression morphs into one of confusion. “I shouldn’t have gotten in your face just because I was having a bad day.”

“It’s really okay,” Evan says finally, making eye contact, but only barely, eyes flitting to Connor before returning back to the floor. 

It feels like a small victory, so Connor takes it.

“It’s really not,” Connor says back, because honestly it wasn’t and he thinks that Evan’s letting him off too easy. “You don’t have to pretend it wasn’t completely shitty.”

Evan bites his lip.

“Um, okay. Well, I forgive you then.” He’s looking at Connor directly now and his posture seems to have relaxed incrementally. “What Jared said was, well, it was terrible.”

It’s here that Connor doesn’t bother mincing words. “Yeah, Kleinman is a real dipshit. I honestly can’t believe you’re friends with that guy.”

“We’re _family_ friends,” Evan corrects him quickly, like that means something. “He just hangs around me because his mom makes him.”

“Do family friends not sign casts?” Connor asks looking at Evan’s wrist.

Evan jerks his head down, shrugging. “So I’ve been told.”

They fall into silence again after that, and Connor isn’t sure what exactly it is he said wrong this time, but he thinks he can guess. Across the room the other boy fidgets with his hands, his thumb rubbing intently at the skin just under his cast. 

“I could sign it,” Connor suggests and Evan looks up so quickly Connor thinks he hears a joint pop. “Do you have a sharpie?”

“You want to do that?” Evan asks. There’s a tremor in his voice that makes Connor feel unbelievably sad.

“Why not?” he says plainly. “Do you not want me to?”

Evan shakes his head so quickly and so abruptly it looks like it hurts.

“It’s not—” His mouth twists and he looks back at his arm. “I’m just surprised.”

Connor heaves himself into a seated position and holds out his hand.

The manner in which Evan fumbles for the sharpie in his pocket, jerking it out towards Connor with an unchecked sort of eagerness is nothing short of endearing. Fitting the end of the marker between his teeth, Connor twists of the cap and places the tip against Evan’s cast. He writes his name out in big blocky obnoxious letters, glancing up at Evan to catch his reaction once he’s done. 

“Now we can both pretend we have friends.” Connor says, and honestly he’s going for _conversational_ , but he knows the second he says it that it’s the wrong thing to say.

Evan’s mouth tightens at the edges. “Good point.”

Heat burns down the back of his neck and Connor bites down on the inside of his cheek. _Hard_.

How does he keep fucking this up?

Connor waits a few beats, takes a deep breath, and tries again.

“I promise I’m not actively trying to make you feel shitty if that makes a difference. I just can’t seem to stop saying shitty things.”

Evan’s gaze is still on him, evaluating and cautious.

Then after a moment, he snorts.

“I have a ‘why am I like this’ moment at least five times a day.” Evan admits, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “So, uh, no hard feelings?”

He offers Connor the smallest of smiles and Connor feels his chest clench.

*

The car ride to Evan’s house is quiet and almost comfortable.

Evan seems content to pick at his cast the whole way, Connor notices, watching him out of the corner of his eye. 

Eventually, they pull up to a small house Evan points to off the main street, and Connor cuts the engine, peering out his window while Evan fumbles clumsily for his keys. 

The windows are dark and driveway empty. 

Connor doubts anyone is home.

It’s only after Evan lets himself out that he says anything, turning on his heel to stick his head through the open passenger window, offering Connor a timid sort of smile.

“Thank you for today,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “It was, uh, nice talking to you.”

Evan doesn’t look directly at him, sort of off to the side like his eyes can’t focus, only bouncing back every once in awhile to make sure Connor’s still listening.

“I’m around, in c-case you ever wanted to, uh, talk again.” He continues, still struggling to make eye contact, and some of the persistent stutter returning to his speech. “I’m— ” Evan swallows hard, brow furrowing. “I’m usually free.”

His gaze flickers up and stays, checking for Connor’s reaction, hopeful but clearly bracing for rejection.

Connor thinks this is where he should let Hansen down gently.

He should because clearly the kid has his wires twisted if he wants to spend more time with Connor of all people. But looking at him now, pressed against his passenger door, eyes wide, Connor finds himself unable to.

“I should probably get your number then,” Connor says eventually, shifting back in his seat.

Understanding dawns on Evan’s face slowly, like the sun rising and pushing away darkness and confusion until all that’s left is a pleasant sort of surprise. Connor can’t blame him for taking a minute, Connor’s surprised by his offer too.

“Really?”

Connor can’t help but laugh at Evan’s undisguised shock. “You still have that sharpie?”

Once the novelty wares away, Evan grants him a small smile and he reaches into his pocket, and Connor thinks it’s the incredible how something as simple as a smile seems to add an almost angelic quality to the other boy’s face. His normally pale face is now flushed a soft rosy pink, the blue of his eyes seeming to sparkle in the afternoon light.

Connor only tears his eyes away to grab the pen from Evan’s outstretched hand. Gesturing for Evan’s cast, Connor curls his fingers loosely around the offered wrist, neatly printing his number underneath the scrawl of his name.

*

“You asshole,” Zoe snaps at him the minute he’s through the front door. “I can’t believe you.” 

Connor fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Jesus Christ. What?”

“I saw you push Evan Hansen in the hall today.” Her voice is decidedly cold, and she folds her arms across her chest. “Connor. What’s wrong with you?”

Connor laughs because he knows it’ll bother and because everything about this conversation is _hilarious_. “I wish I fucking knew, Zoe.”

A voice interrupts them before they can go any further, calling out from the kitchen. “Connor, is that you?” 

His mom rounds the corner entering the living room with a look of exasperation on her face. “Why did I get a call from the school saying you were absent after 3rd period? I thought we talked about this.”

Pushing past his sister, Connor offers his mom a shrug, heading for the stairs. “I sort of got into a disagreement with this kid at school.”

Behind him, Zoe laughs, incredulous. “A _disagreement_?”

Connor turns sharply on the first step, glaring at her. “During which he may or may not have hit his head on the pavement— he’s _fine_ by the way,”

His mom frowns slightly, looking between them. “What happened?”

Rolling his eyes, Connor explains. “He was still a little dazed, so I brought him over here, so he could recover, and we talked it out. I just got back from dropping him off at home.” 

He turns his gaze back to where Zoe is still glaring daggers at him and gives her the fakest smile he can manage. “Turns out Hansen is actually pretty cool once you get past the stutter.”

Her nose scrunches disbelievingly. “Really?”

“ _Yes, really_ , Zoe.” Connor sneers.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Their mom snaps, grabbing their attention again.

“Connor,” his mom begins, her voice taking on an artificially sweet tone. “Please, no more skipping and no more fighting. You barely avoided summer school and behavioral probation last year, and no one here wants you to have to repeat your senior year.” 

She pauses and for a moment Connor thinks he’s about to receive a lecture, but then her face breaks out into a genuine smile and she reaches out, briefly squeezing Connor’s arm affectionately. “That being said, I’m glad to hear that you’ve made a friend. You can tell— what’s his name?”

“Evan Hansen.” Connor responds quickly, trying not to make it obvious how shocked he is by her reaction.

“Well, you can tell Evan that he’s welcome over any time.”

“Sure.” Connor agrees slowly, taking another step up the stairs. “Anything else?”

“Dinner’s at 7.” She chirps back, pivoting on her heel, heading back to the kitchen. “We’re going to have a nice family meal, no eating in your rooms tonight.”

Connor watches her go.

“She lets you get away with everything.”

Connor looks at Zoe, still standing by the doorway, and lets the sneer slide back into place.

“Don’t worry, sister dearest. You’re still clearly the favorite.”

He doesn’t wait for her response.

He’s already disappearing up the stairs.

*

Unknown number: _This is Evan :)_

Unknown number: _Thanks for the ride home! It was_

Unknown number: _it was nice_

Connor: _You ever been to Autumn Smile Apple Orchard?_

Evan: _I went on field trip there once, but it was a looong time ago._

Connor: _You doing anything tomorrow?_  
Evan: _:)_


	2. chapter two

His mom works Thursday evenings, which means she tends to sleep most of the day up until her shift, and Evan is left to his own devices.

Her car is still in the driveway when he gets back from school, and the lights are off when enters through the front. Taking care not to make too much noise, Evan makes a direct path to his bedroom, not bothering with the kitchen even though his stomach growls loudly as he passes.

He drops his backpack to the ground as soon as his feet hit the carpet, carefully shutting the door behind him. There’s a new pile of scholarship printouts strewn across his desk and he flips through them absentmindedly, picking up a few and taking them over to his bed.

He’s about done reading the fifth packet in the stack when his phone vibrates.

Evan sets the papers aside and unlocks his screen.

Connor: _Hey wyd?_

Evan smiles to himself, typing out a response.

He sets the phone back onto his bed and reaches back for the scholarship forms, but before he can his phone buzzes to life and before he’s really even thinking about it Evan’s checking the new message that’s come through.

Connor: _You want to come over?_

He doesn't think about it very long before he decides the scholarships can wait.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket Evan slides off his bed.

The lights are on now, which means at some point his mom had gotten up. 

Evan wonders briefly if he can bypass any stilted conversation between them and make it through the door before she can see him. He almost manages it too, but the sound of the latch must alert her to his presence, because he’s about halfway out the door when his mom sticks her head out from the kitchen. 

She’s dressed in her scrubs already, but her hair is still wild from sleep, dark circles under her eyes. Evan can smell fresh grounds percolating in the coffee pot, and he wonders how she’s going to manage class in the morning.

“Where are you off to?” She asks around a yawn. “I feel like I’ve barely seen you all week, kiddo.”

Evan hesitates, wondering how to go about this.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell her.

Not exactly.

It’s just that he doesn’t want to jinx it.

“I kind of, well…” 

He steals himself and just comes out and says it. “I kind of made a new friend recently. I was just going to go meet up with them at their house.”

He thinks he should feel lighter now that he’s said it, but there’s a sickening moment in which she doesn’t say anything, but then she sucks in a breath that sounds almost like a gasp, and Evan relaxes just slightly.

“Evan,” she says finally, and when she smiles it looks genuine, her eyes bright. “That’s wonderful! What’s their name? Do I know the family?”

Evan shifts his weight against the doorframe. His cheeks feel hot and he can only hope they’re not just as red. “Uh, Connor Murphy?” 

“What’s he like?” She asks excitedly, practically bouncing on her feet.

“He’s uh,” Evan thinks about it. Connor Murphy was a lot of things. Distilling that into a neat little sound bite for his mom feels like a strangely big ask.

“He’s a lot cooler than me.” He decides on. He offers her a weak smile. “But he’s nice.”

Evan doesn’t think he’s ever seen his mom so giddy before. Then again, he can’t remember the last time he’s mentioned having a friend. 

She’s almost glowing. “I can’t wait to meet him, baby.”

“It’s still new,” he adds in quickly. He doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Doesn’t want her to get her hopes up just for her to be disappointed when it all comes crashing down. “We’re just getting to know each other.”

“I’m so happy for you.” She says softly, clearly delighted. She takes his face into her hands and presses a kiss to his cheek. 

“Have fun!” She says, releasing him. “I’ll be gone tonight, okay? So don’t forget to eat something.”

“I will.” He agrees quickly, edging back.

“And did you take your—”

Evan’s back stiffens.

“Yes.” He cuts her off, tone clipped, his smile turning strained.

“Good boy.” She praises, her own smile turning brittle, perhaps sensing his discomfort. 

She gives him a little wave as he turns to go. “Love you, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

He waves.

He doesn’t say it back.

*

The low light of late afternoon nearly blinds him as walks up the Murphy’s driveway. Evan squints hard against it walking up to the door. 

He knocks lightly then spends the next few seconds fretting that he didn’t knock loud enough for anyone to hear before spotting the doorbell, and realizing there are apparently a multitude of ways to screw up such a simple task.

He’s about to ring the doorbell when he catches sight of a familiar silhouette through the glass, and Evan feels a smile forming on his face almost without his permission, worry temporarily forgotten.

“Hi,” Evan greets when Connor opens the door, just a little awkwardly, feeling foolish but hopelessly endeared just by the sight of him.

“Hey,” Connor says shortly, waving him inside.

It’s not until Evan’s passing him through the door’s threshold that he notices Connor is practically vibrating with tension of his own.

“Are you—?”

“Okay, so don’t be mad.” Connor whispers under his breath, shutting the door carefully behind him. “But our mom overheard Zoe and I talking about you coming over, and she thought it might be a ‘fun idea’ if you joined us for dinner.”

Evan’s good mood falters immediately. “Why were you and Zoe talking about me?”

Connor heaves a deep and put upon sigh, answering Evan through gritted teeth. “Because my sister’s fucking nosy, that’s why.” 

He knows Connor’s frustration isn’t directed at him, knows it’s more about the _situation_ , but Evan feels it all the same, and his shoulders bow forward without him meaning to, his breath stalling in his throat.

The tightness around Connor’s jaw loosens, and suddenly Evan can feel a hand squeezing his shoulder.

“Look, if this is too much for you just say so. You really don’t have to do this.”

Evan shakes his head, feeling vaguely nauseous.

“It’s not that, it’s just…” 

It’s just he knows he’s going to screw this up.

Maybe Connor can see some of his thoughts on his face because before Evan can completely lose himself to panic, Connor forces Evan to meet his eyes. “Evan, c’mon. Relax. You’ll be fine. Take a breath for fuck’s sake.”

Except, Evan doesn’t feel like he’ll be fine. He feels a little helpless, like he doesn’t know what to do with his face or his voice or his body any given moment on a good day and this dinner will be nothing short of disaster. 

He fights the urge to curl inward and away, but Connor’s still standing there, watching him nervously, so Evan takes Connor’s advices and _breathes_.

He closes his eyes, and after a few tense moments, Evan feels his shoulders relax and his breath evens out until it no longer feels like his heart is jumping in his throat.

“Sorry,” Evan says, reflexively.

Connor’s fingers tighten over his shoulder.

“It’s fine. Just please don’t pass out on me.”

Further inside the house, a voice calls out. “Connor!”

Connor freezes, and so does Evan.

“Jesus Christ,” Connor mutters, glancing over his shoulder before turning back to Evan. “Hey, look I’m really sorry about this. Just—”

Roping an arm around his shoulder, Connor steers him into the next room where a large dining table fills most of the space and motions to the nearest chair.

“Sit down, make yourself comfortable or whatever. I’ll be back in a second, alright?”

Evan obediently sits.

“Connor!”

Connor turns and yells back, “Yeah, I’m coming!” 

He turns back to Evan looking a little pale and a little like he wants to hit something.

“I’ll just be a second,” he assures Evan, adding, “you’ll be fine,” before he’s off into the other room and Evan’s left alone.

There’s a napkin on the table setting in front of him, and not sure what else to do with his hands, Evan grabs it, twisting it anxiously between his fingers.

He feels antsy and exposed here, his instincts are screaming at him to escape, but an increasingly louder part of Evan reminds him that Connor is only a room away, and he invited Evan here because he wanted him here, and it would be rude to leave now.

“Hey.” 

Zoe Murphy enters the dining room just then, a bowl of fruit salad wedged into the crock of her elbow and a water pitcher in her hand.

Evan sits up straighter in his chair.

She’s as pretty as Evan remembers her at the jazz band concert last year, especially now that she’s smiling directly at him. Her teeth are so even, perfectly white and straight. It reminds Evan not to smile back, in case his smile his awful and puts her off.

His lips quirk upward in what he hopes is an acceptable amount before he ducks his head shyly, mumbling back a soft-spoken “hey” before returning his eyes to his hands.

“You’re Evan Hansen, right?” Zoe asks, although it’s clear she already knows his name. 

He stutters out a quick affirmative anyway because he wants to be polite and sociable and _normal_.

“I almost didn’t believe Connor when he said you were coming over,” she says, placing the bowl onto the table.

“Why?” Evan asks, alarmed. “Is this a bad time? Should I— would it be better if I left?”

“No, no, please, nothing like that.” Zoe laughs, and it’s light and airy, just like he imagined it being. “I was surprised because I literally saw him push you on the first day of school. You really shouldn’t let him treat you like that.”

“That was a misunderstanding actually,” Evan blurts out, “which we already worked out. He wasn’t, bullying me or anything, I just, uh, laughed at the wrong time. It’s okay. We’re cool now. Really.”

“Listen,” Zoe starts, looking dubious. “If he ever—”

“If I ever what?” Connor interrupts, emerging from the kitchen with a casserole dish in his hands, fixing his sister with a guarded look. 

Zoe’s mouth snaps shut with an audible clack of teeth, her eyes narrowing at her brother.

“What were you going to say, Zoe?” He asks slowly, setting the dish on the table.

“That’s none of your business, Connor.” She says lightly, taking her seat.

“Oh, so _now_ we’re practicing personal boundaries?”

“Hey, hey, none of that.” An older woman scolds entering the dining room after them. She turns to Evan with a demure sort of smile. “Evan, it’s so nice to meet you. I’m Cynthia, Connor and Zoe’s mom, we’re so glad you’ll be joining us.”

“Thanks for inviting me, Mrs. Murphy,” Evan stutters out, managing a polite smile back. “It’s very k-kind of you.”

Her lips curve upward and she rakes appraising eyes over him before reaching over to squeeze Connor’s shoulder affectionately. “We were just so glad to hear that Connor’s made a new friend at school.”

Next to her, Connor looks mortified.

She turns, popping her head out into the living room to call up the stairs. “Larry! Dinner’s ready!”

A man who Evan assumes to be Connor’s dad walks into the room a minute later, situating himself at the head of the table. His eyes are glued to the screen of his cellphone, his thumb circling in a constant scrolling motion. After awhile his eyes flicker up, landing on Evan.

“Who’s this? One of your friends, Zoe?”

Zoe smirks, clearly amused. “Connor’s friend, Evan, actually.”

Mr. Murphy’s head inclines ever so slightly in his direction, and Evan can tell in that moment he’s being scrutinized. Below the table, Evan’s hands clench and loosen around his napkin fitfully.

“You keeping our boy out of trouble, Evan?” Connor’s dad asks, his tone mocking in a way that throws Evan off.

He struggles to stutter out a response. “Oh, uh.”

“Wow,” Connor cuts in, the roll of his eyes almost audible. He crosses the room and drops down in the seat next to Evan’s. “It’s like you physically can’t go more than five seconds without criticizing me, can you?”

Connor’s dad scoffs and reaches out to snag a dinner roll from the top of the basket.

“I’m just making conversation, Connor.” He says, tossing it onto his plate. “I guess I’m just surprised you’ve made friends with such a nice boy all of the sudden.”

Out of the corner of his eye Evan sees Connor flinch.

Evan turns toward him, tries to catch his eye, but the other boy avoids his gaze, choosing to glower at his dad from across the table instead.

“And how do you know Evan’s a nice boy, huh?” Connor asks, hostility dripping from his voice. “He hasn’t said more than two words to you yet. He could be a degenerate just like me for all you know.”

“We should probably eat before the food goes cold,” Zoe chimes in quietly, 

“Is it the polo, Larry?” Connor presses on, ignoring her. “Is that what does it for you?”

Mr. Murphy rolls his eyes.

“I’ll never understand why I bought you all those nice shirts from the department store which I’ve never seen you wear them _once_. Someone tell me why I bother wasting my money on stuff you don’t even use.”

“Well, maybe if you bothered asking me what I wanted for a change—”

“Evan, would you like some fruit salad?” Zoe offers, drawing Evan’s attention.

He figures he’s already been sitting here for far too long, being spoken _about_ more than spoken _to_ , and it’s clear from the way Connor’s upper lip curls, disdain written on his face, that they might be in this for the long haul. So, Evan takes the offered bowl with a whispered ‘thanks’ and piles a spoonful onto his own plate, and noticing that Connor is still fully engaged in his argument with his father, spoons out a portion onto his plate as well before passing the bowl back to Zoe, who watches him with an odd expression before handing the bowl to her mother.

He’s doesn’t exactly know the protocol here, but he’s pretty sure staring would be bad. It’s easier for now to focus on the print of the tablecloth instead, red flowers scattered across a lush cream fabric, then try and decipher whatever it is Connor and his father are arguing about, looking up only to pick disinterestedly at his plate.

“Enough,” Connor’s mom hisses finally when it looks like Mr. Murphy is a moment away from popping a vein. 

She glares at her husband from across the table, pinning him down with her eyes, before turning another disapproving look towards her son, who scowls right back. 

“ _We have a guest_.”

Evan flinches at her tone, can’t help it, and he knows that Connor notices this time, the other boy’s blue eyes shifting abruptly toward him, almost as if just remembering he was there at all.

“So, Evan.” Mrs. Murphy begins, her voice sugar sweet, a sharp contrast to the caustic bite from only a moment before. “What did you do this summer?”

Attention shifts again and suddenly all eyes are back on him.

The awkwardness of it all is painful, but Evan knows that he needs to spit out something socially acceptable and half-way interesting if he has any chance at all of making a good impression.

Gathering his courage, Evan musters up what he hopes is an acceptable smile, and does his best to meet her gaze unflinchingly. “I worked this summer as an apprentice park ranger at Ellison State Park. So, I’m sort of a tree expert now. Not to brag, but—”

“Is that how you broke your arm?” Zoe interrupts, looking interested.

Evan laughs nervously. “Oh, uh, yeah.”

“And how exactly did that happen?” Mr. Murphy asks from across the table, an eyebrow cocked.

Evan takes a deep breath.

“I tried to climb this, uh, 40-foot-tall oak tree and—” He lets out another nervous laugh. “Well, it was a nasty fall.”

Connor’s mom hums thoughtfully, piling what looked to be some kind of leafy casserole onto her plate. “Seems pretty dangerous for the organizers of that internship to have let you do that.”

Evan’s busy trying to figure out how to explain that the organizers had no idea where he was when Connor’s dad lets out a barking sort of laugh. “It was probably a good character building experience though, right son?”

Evan feels himself cringe internally. “Uh, sure.”

“So manly,” Connor pips in, spearing a piece of cantaloupe on the end of his fork. “Evan’s a real man’s man, isn’t he?”

Connor’s dad rolls his eyes again. “That’s not what I said, is it?”

“You didn’t have to.” Connor bites back.

Zoe looks up from where she’s picking at her own casserole and says, softly, “I think dad just meant that it’s empowering for the interns to have a bit of independence out in the field.”

Connor turns his sneer towards her. “Well maybe if Evan was a little less ‘empowered’ he wouldn’t have broken his arm.”

Her expression sours at Connor’s words and her gaze cuts back down to her plate. “Why do you have to twist everything I say into something negative?”

“Why do you always have to defend whatever thoughtless comment he makes?”

Zoe looks up from her plate, giving him an exasperated look. “I’m not defending him, I’m just saying maybe you took it the wrong way.”

“So I’m reacting the wrong way, is that it?” Connor grinds out. “There’s nothing wrong with how he’s acting?”

“Connor, I’m not trying to fight with you.” She says, her voice rising.

“Great job with that, but I’m done with this,” Connor says, rising from the table, sending Evan a look. “Coming?”

There’s the tiniest hint of an edge to his voice, like he doesn’t expect Evan to follow, but Evan’s nodding almost immediately.

“Oh, uh, okay.”

He stands with a fair lack of grace, sending his chair scrapping back against the floor.

“Evan, please.” Connor’s mom looks at him with pleading eyes. “You barely ate anything.”

She looks guilty and that’s the last thing Evan wants.

“Oh, I’m actually… so full.” Evan tells her unconvincingly, patting a hand against his stomach. “That was so much food. Really good, Mrs. Murphy. Thanks again. It was… amazing. Thanks really. I’m just going to—”

Thankfully Connor grabs his good arm and drags him into motion before he can really make a fool of himself.

*

“So, I think they’re just about ready to adopt you.” Connor says once they’re up the stairs.

Evan, right behind him, almost laughs at the idea. “They hardly even talked to me.”

“It doesn’t take much with them.” Connor replies, pushing open the door to his room. “Honestly, I think between the bashfully polite act and your infatuation with the outdoors, my dad is ready to process the paperwork tonight.”

Evan follows him inside.

He’s not going to lie to himself that it doesn’t feel just the tiniest bit validating that Connor’s family find him acceptable in that way. Of course it does. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish it wasn’t at the expense of Connor’s own feelings.

He doesn’t think Connor would admit it to him just yet, but the fight with his father and then with Zoe had clearly left him rattled, and Evan finds himself wanting to put the other boy at ease.

“He’d regret it.” Evan offers in what he hopes is a consoling manner, closing the door behind him. “I’m a terrible son.”

Connor grabs a box from the edge of his desk and drops down onto the foot of his bed.

“I’m pretty sure that’s my line,” Connor responds absently, bitterness seeping into his voice. He cracks open the lid and then looks up at Evan with a question in his eyes, “Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Uh, no?” Evan says, a little uncertain. “It’s your room.”

Nodding absently, Connor ducks his head, focus turned to the contents of the box on his lap. “Thanks.”

Evan follows Connor to the bed and, after a moment of deliberating, and makes himself comfortable, sitting on the opposite side, leaning back against the headboard. He slips his shoes off and maneuvers his legs up on the mattress, tucking them neatly under his body.

At the edge of the bed, Connor carefully rolls a joint between his fingers. When he’s done he briefly studies his workmanship before placing the end between his lips, bending back towards his bedside table to snag a lighter.

With a flick of his thumb the flame ignites. 

Evan watches as he inhales deeply, his eyes closed and mouth soft, before settling back onto the bed. He seems to almost melt into the mattress, sprawling out over the comforter in a loose arrangement of long limbs.

The windows are open, and Evan feels the cool breeze against his neck, but it does little to diminish the dank, sweet scent of weed that fills the room.

Connor takes another hit off the joint, cheeks hollowing momentarily, before his eyes slant toward Evan.

He exhales and a plume of hazy smoke fills the space between them.

“Do you want any?” he asks, arm stretching lazily out in Evan’s direction, offering up the joint.

Evan looks at it for a moment and then shakes his head, feeling strangely shy.

“No, that’s alright.”

Connor snorts good-naturedly and returns the joint to his lips, humming contently. “More for me then.”

“Do you—” Evan tries to make his voice confident, calm, relaxed. “Do you smoke a lot?” His right hand, without him realizing it, begins to grab at the hem of his shirt, worrying the fabric between his fingers. “Not that it’s a problem if you do, I was just, uh, curious.”

“Sometimes.” Connor answers vaguely. Smoke drifts lazily up from between his lips. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Once.” Evan says, grimacing at the memory. “My uh, well, Jared had some, and I was at his house, and his parents were, well, they weren’t there and he thought it would be funny if I took a hit and I spent the next two hours hyperventilating in his guest bathroom. It was awful.”

He braces himself for Connor’s laughter, because how pathetic is that? 

But it doesn’t come.

“It’s not for everyone,” Connor says, his knee bumping against Evan’s on the bed. “You can’t always anticipate how you’ll react to it.”

He realizes then that Connor is trying to be _nice_. Which really, at this point, shouldn’t be much of a surprise to Evan. Connor _is_ nice. 

At least to Evan he is.

It’s probably why Evan feels more comfortable around him than he’s felt around anyone else.

It’s probably why he says what he does next.

“Jared probably knew exactly how I would react and did it anyway,” Evan starts, picking at his cast distractedly. 

“He acts like I’m just some big joke to him, like it’s funny that the easiest things are, uh, are harder for me.” Evan swallows hard. “It’s just so stupid. We’ve known each other since we were little kids. We used to do everything together, and I’m not blind, I know I’m like, an embarrassment or whatever, but he treats me like— like none of it mattered? Like I don’t get to be anything other than that pathetic anxious mess for the rest of my life. And it’s kind of, uh, well.” 

Evan sucks in a breath. “It’s kind of bullshit.”

The room falls quiet and it’s only then that Evan realizes he’s been talking for way too long. 

He doesn’t usually get like this. He’s never really talked about any of this before. It had never done him any good.

The warmth that takes his cheeks is unexpected and mortifying.

“You sure you don’t want to keep going?” Connor asks. His eyes have gone all dozy and heavy-lidded, but his gaze is focused on Evan, pale eyes watching him. “Feels like you’ve got a lot to get off your chest there.”

“No.” Evan scrubs a hand across his face, and pulls his knees up to his chest. He feels his chest heave and wonders where the sudden burst of anger came from. “No, I shouldn’t have said anything. God. Like, how presumptuous can I get? You don’t want to— why would you care?”

He’s ruining this.

The first good thing he’s had in so long and he’s _ruining_ it.

That loose, unmoored feeling is swelling in his chest again, the sense of being watched and judged and found lacking consuming him.

His body is practically vibrating with it, and he tries to grip it, tries to wrestle it for control, but it’s like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands, slipping away through his fingers with each attempt.

He can’t.

He can’t.

 _He can’t_.

“No, no, no. Don’t clam up on me, Hansen.” Connor whines, reaching out with his free hand, fingers wrapping around Evan’s ankle. He tugs once and Evan doesn’t fight it, lets the other boy pull his leg from its position. “This is good. You can be mad, it’s alright.”

Connor looks up at him with encouraging eyes and Evan wants to. He wants to say more, but he’s tongue-tied and the words just won’t come. 

He sits there on Connor’s bed and forces himself to shut it all out, to count each breath while he waits for the episode to pass.

Connor is still talking, Evan logs as much somewhere in his brain, but his voice seems to come from a great distance and Evan can’t focus on it just yet.

He grits his teeth and waits.

He doesn’t understand why it’s so difficult. Why his shame is so debilitating, so completely paralyzing that everything needs to come to a complete stop least it overwhelm him.

He curls up on himself, clenching his stomach, just trying to breathe.

He hate this.

He hates that Connor _sees_.

He breathes.

The embarrassment retreats slowly.

And as his mind becomes more alert he can smell the harsh, acrid scent of Connor’s joint.

He feels the cool sheets beneath him

He registers the fingers snuggly curled around his ankle.

“You okay there, Hansen?”

Connor’s voice is gravelly from the smoke and slow in a way that reminds Evan of syrup. 

There’s sympathy there too which Evan hadn’t expected.

His tongue unsticks. 

“I’m trying.”

Connor smiles crookedly up at him, and the hand around Evan’s ankle squeezes gently.

“You’re trying to be okay?”

There’s laughter in his voice this time, but it’s not unkind, and Evan finds he likes the sound of it.

“Yes?”

“How’s that going?”

“Not as well as I hoped.”

“What can I do?” Connor asks. Evan feels his finger tap against his heel. “To help,” he clarifies, when the silence stretches too long.

Evan pulls a deep breath in through his teeth, lets it sit in his lungs a long while before letting it rush out of him. 

“This.” He says eventually, when burn dissipates. “You’re actually doing great.”

The finger continues its steady rhythm. Tap. Tap. Tap. “You want to talk about it?”

Truthfully, Evan doesn’t.

He shakes his head.

“Why not?” Connor asks.

Evan winces.

“It’s not like people are starving to hear what I think about things, Connor.”

Connor huffs out a loud breath, reaching over to deposit the still lit joint into an ashtray on his side table.

His hand slides away from Evan’s ankle as he shifts up the bed, and for whatever reason the loss of that simple touch hits Evan hard, but then Connor is settling in the space beside him, closer than he was before, still looking at Evan with a measure of patience. 

“We’re teenagers, Evan. Nobody gives a shit what we think about anything.”

Connor shifts again, tilts his head back against the headboard, eyes slipping shut. “But if you ever want to vent or whatever, I’m all ears. Not sure how much that’s worth, from an asshole like me, but there you go.”

In a way, it’s so much more than anyone has ever offered him before.

Evan’s not entirely sure what to do with it.

“You’re not an asshole,” is what he says, watching as Connor’s eyes open, peaking at him from the corners. “You shouldn’t call yourself one.”

Connor turns towards him, stilled for a moment as he lets his eyes rove over Evan’s face, studying him. He smiles, maybe a little uncertainly, and says, “Get to know me longer and you’ll change your mind.”

The slight hint of self-deprecation is strange and out of place, rubs Evan the wrong way, and suddenly he’s hit with the overwhelming urge to correct Connor, to make him _understand_.

Evan blinks, trying to work through this, both what Connor’s said, and the tangled knot of emotions throbbing fiercely in his chest.

“Connor,” Evan begins, drawing out the other boy’s name slowly. “You’re like the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

Connor gives him a look like he’s said something terribly amusing.

“I mean it.” Evan insists. “Take the compliment.”

Wordlessly, Connor retrieves the joint back from the ashtray, bringing it back to his lips. 

He doesn’t meet Evan’s eyes again for what feels like a very long time, but what is probably only a matter of seconds. He breathes out, letting the smoke go in a long exhale. 

“If I have to.” He replies, his voice dropping into the tones of a deadpan. 

He pauses, licks his lips and asks, “You sure you don’t want any?”

Evan knows what Connors doing.

Avoidance is kind of his expertise after all.

Playing along anyway, Evan eyes the offering warily. “Hilarious.”

“You know, when you’re not elbow deep in a panic attack, you can actually be a little bitchy.” Connor says, one side of his mouth quirking upward. “I say that as a good thing.”

Evan tries to scoff, but it kind of just sounds like a weird exhale. “Thanks?”

“Take the compliment, Evan.”

Evan shakes his head and rubs a hand across the back of his neck. “Okay,” unable to stop himself from blushing.

It’s quiet between them for a few moments, but it’s comfortable again, relaxed even. 

“Here,” Connor says after awhile. 

He sags over the side of the bed, and for a brief moment, Evan thinks he’s going to fall right off, but then Connor rights himself, an unopened bag of Cheetos clutched in his grasp. 

He tosses the bag onto Evan’s lap and grins. “I owe you dinner.”

*

“So, dinner was fun.”

Evan starts ever-so-slightly at the sound of Zoe Murphy’s voice.

She appears at his side almost as soon as he’s through the doors of his econ class, jogging up to him like she had run from her own class as soon as the 6th period bell sounded.

“Yeah, really fun.” Evan agrees reflexively, offering her a small smile and a flash of eye contact as he continues down the hall.

They’ve never spoken at school before. The fact that she is now feels surreal.

“Evan, I’m kidding.” She gives him a look like she can’t quite believe he’s being serious, letting out a soft laugh. “Dinner was a disaster.”

The smile on his lips feels tighter than it had a second ago, and self-consciousness has him ducking his head, embarrassed.

“Yeah, right. Totally.”

Beside him, Zoe shrugs.

“Disaster is pretty common for us nowadays though, so at least you got the authentic Murphy family experience.”

“Oh, well. Lucky me?” Evan breathes out nervously.

“Evan,” Zoe starts, her tone taking a sudden shift into something more serious. “Can I ask you something? About Connor?”

Evan risks a glance back at her. “Okay?”

“What have you heard about him?” She asks, then frowns when his expression morphs into one of confusion. “Don’t look at me like that, you must’ve heard something.”

“I don’t think—” Evan stops walking, struggling to wrap his head around what she’s really asking him and _why_. “People exaggerate. I don’t really listen to that—”

Evan feels like he might’ve made a misstep somewhere. 

Zoe looks concerned, she looks concerned for _him_ , so much so that it’s slightly freaking Evan out.

“My brother throws desks in classrooms, Evan.” She tells him in a hushed voice. “He freaks out in the computer lab and tries to punch his way through doors. He isn’t _right_.”

Evan stares at her, and then stares at her some more, burrow furrowing.

“Are you serious?” Evan asks.

Evan knows the rumors. He also knows that a majority of them aren’t true.

“I’m not trying to scare you off, just promise me you’ll be careful around him.”

“Okay?” Evan agrees halfheartedly, not understanding, but eager to avoid any further discussion on the matter.

She gives him a knowing look as he fiddles with the straps of his backpack before letting out a long sigh.

“Evan, I mean it.” Her voice takes on a rough edge of frustration and her frown deepens.

“I said I would,” Evan repeats indulgently, even as the tension begins to well up in his throat. 

He tries to think of something polite to say to end this sort of non-conversation semi-intervention _thing_ they’re having, but everything he thinks of sounds pathetic in his head, so he gives up. 

He’s in the middle of pondering whether he could just walk away without saying anything, when Zoe speaks again.

“I think it’s really nice you two are friends,” she goes on, ignoring his obvious discomfort. “But I know my brother and I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

In an undertone, she continues, “He’s hurt people before.”

The insinuation behind her words is troubling, to say the least, and Evan finds himself bristling unexpectedly. 

“I really appreciate you’re, uh, intentions,” he replies flatly, shifting his weight. “But it feels really weird talking about Connor’s, I don’t know, mental health? With his sister. Behind his back. I—”

She opens her mouth like she’s going to cut him off, but Evan presses on, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.

“Look, we all have problems, some more than others, and I’m willing to bet Connor would have told me all of this at some point once we had arrived there, uh, naturally, but even if he never told me it would still be none of my business and frankly I don’t care because for the first time in my life I have a friend who makes me feel just a little less alone, and I’m not ready to give that up just because you think I should be dissuaded by some of Connor’s, I don’t know, more questionable past behaviors?” 

“You hardly even know him, Evan.” Zoe says, mouth tightening even further. “He shoved you to the ground only a week ago. You act like that never happened.”

Evan feels his cheeks warm up at the comment, in a bit of embarrassment and maybe some annoyance.

“You think Connor’s the first person to knock me down in the hallway, Zoe?” Evan asks bluntly, and feels a tiny bit of satisfaction when Zoe gaps at him, clearly not expecting that. “Because he’s really not, not by a long shot.” 

He doesn’t like admitting it, especially to her, but Evan doesn’t feel like he has much of choice anymore. 

“But he is the first person to notice that I’d fallen and helped me back up, so I’ll take my chances, okay?” 

The thought of losing Connor’s friendship frightens him in a way that Evan hasn’t fully analyzed yet, makes him feel jittery and wound tight. 

He doesn’t like it. 

His mouth twists without him meaning to, and Evan thinks it might be a sneer forming on his lips, but he doesn’t do that, so it can’t be.

“But thanks for the unsolicited advice,” he says, and the words come out like he’s spat them out, harsher than he’s ever been with her, with _anyone_ really.

Her eyes widen almost comically and she says nothing.

Far too late, it clicks in Evan’s brain that he’s essentially just told Zoe Murphy to fuck off and when it does, he can’t get the words out quickly enough to apologize.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I just said that.” He blurts out, horrified at himself. “I’m so sorry. That was completely rude.”

“No,” Zoe says stiltedly, like she’s struggling to get the words out. “You’re right.” 

There’s a slight crease growing between her brows, and she looks intently at the ground, then back at him, visually recalibrating. “This was a terrible idea, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

She looks like she thinks she overstepped, _knows_ it, and if Evan is being honest, she’s right.

Even so, Evan lets her off the hook.

Collecting himself, Evan takes a deep breath and says, “You’re just trying to protect your brother.” 

Zoe scoffs good-naturedly, still looking embarrassed. “Protect him from you?”

“Protect him from what people will say.” Evan bites his lip, hoping he’s not breaking Connor’s confidence. “I know he likes to act like it doesn’t effect him, but it’s obvious that it does. And I’m not— I don’t want to make trouble for Connor.”

Zoe gives him a strange look, like he’s not making any sense.

“My brother is the one that makes trouble, Evan.” She says it lightly, like it’s a fact and not a judgment.

Evan doesn’t know if he agrees, but he’s not about to fight her on it, and he’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to fight about it either.

“And I’m okay with that.” Evan says, feeling some of his muscles relax. “Are you?”

Zoe doesn’t say anything for a long moment, but her face has softened, and she looks thoughtfully out into the hallway.

“I guess I’ll have to be.” She says eventually, looking back at him. She smiles, nothing big, just gentle uptick of lips that feels like a truce more than anything else. “I’ll see you around, Evan.”

He nods at her, grateful. “See you.”

She disappears down the hallway, but Evan stays a little longer, just breathing.

He confronted Zoe Murphy and the world didn't end.

Imagine that.


	3. chapter three

Evan groans, tipping his head forward, knocking it against his locker.

 _Dear Evan Hansen_ , Evan thinks sarcastically, grinding his teeth. _Today’s going to suck and here’s why_.

Connor never showed up for free period, which meant he wasn’t going to show up for lunch either, which meant Evan was on his own.

And the worst part about it isn’t that he’s forced to sit alone in the library during lunch period or that he has nobody to exchange looks with in English when Mrs. Cobb goes off on another tangent about how adorable her new foster kittens are. No, the worst part is that he _misses_ Connor and there’s a feeling of disappointment settling heavy in his gut that he’s not entirely sure what to do with.

It’s just, talking to Connor is _nice_.

It feels natural, and easy, and a little bit scary, but mostly in a good way.

And Evan had looked forward to seeing him today.

He rarely looks forward to _anything_.

Someone clears their throat nearby, and the sudden noise draws him rudely from his thoughts. 

Evan’s eyes dart to the side, cursing when he sees who it is. He jerks back from his locker, preparing himself for the inevitable and impending headache.

“So,” Jared begins, dragging the word out several beats longer than necessary. He’s in a good mood, Evan senses. Smug and proud of whatever it is he’s about to share. “Word on the street is that you and Connor Murphy are besties forever now.” 

There’s a mocking sort of lilt to his voice that sets Evan immediately on edge, the grin stretching his lips wide and mocking. “What the fuck, Evan? You trying to make me jealous?”

Refusing to dignify any of it with a response, Evan hikes his backpack further up his shoulder and directs his focus forward, prying his locker open to grab a textbook for next period.

Beside him, Jared snorts loudly, leaning against the neighboring locker, arms crossing. “Oh, so I’m getting the silent treatment, huh? Absolutely savage. I’m crushed.”

Evan rolls his eyes, slamming his locker shut with more force than he means to. 

“Why is this a big deal?” he asks, exasperated. “So, we’ve been hanging out. It’s not that weird.”

“It is pretty fucking weird actually.” Jared disagrees quickly. “You’re _comingling_ with the school freak, dude. What did you think would happen?”

Evan feels his jaw tense. “Don’t call him that.”

“Did you know Jessica Yang is going around telling people she saw Connor and you sneaking into the same single occupancy bathroom during passing period?” Jared wiggles his eyebrows. “Getting your rocks off on school property, Evan? My god.”

Jared makes an obscene gesture with his hand, fake gagging obscenely loud, and then has the audacity to look amused. “Never thought a prude like you would be so kinky.”

“That’s not funny.” Evan says, letting the annoyance show on his face.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve?” Jared chuckles, clearly pleased at getting under Evan’s skin. “You’re right. There is nothing funny about the love one man feels for another. In fact, some would say there’s something quite beautiful—”

Evan feels heat flood his face. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” he interrupts before Jared can be even more of an ass.

“Well, I would if you stopped being so tight-lipped about it. Usually I can’t stop you from unloading every little sad detail of your life onto me, but now you’re acting all shy.”

“Oh, well, c-congratulations,” Evan says sarcastically, crossing his arms. “I’m r-relieving you of that burden from here on out.”

“Don’t be such a wet blanket.” Jared goads him lightly, pushing off the locker. “Also, side note, you haven’t been coming over after school and my mom’s getting suspicious. We’re going to need to fix that.” 

Jared sticks his hands in his pocket, rocking on the balls of his feet, still grinning, still regarding Evan like this is all one big joke to him. “That car insurance isn’t going to pay for itself, you know.”

“Well, that not my problem.” Evan bites out loudly, not caring when some people turn from their own conversations to watch. “If you’re so worried about it, g-get a job. I honestly don’t care if your parents pay it or not.”

Jared sucks in a surprised breath, eyes darting to the side, his grin falling, and his face going pink. 

He shuffles closer, his voice dropping, clearly hoping not to be heard by anyone else listening. “Wow. Fuck you, Evan.”

“No, fuck you, Jared,” Evan hisses back, hands curling up at his sides. “I know you get a k-kick out of, uh, I don’t know, mocking me? But I’m not laughing. I’m done. Find someone else to walk all over.” 

Jared seems to falter at that, and he dips his head down as though embarrassed. He makes a couple aborted attempts to speak before managing to spit out a caustic, “whatever, asshole,” before he’s storming off down the hall.

A chorus of ‘oooohs’ and jeering from onlookers follow him and Evan watches him go, faintly annoyed at the attention but moreover still seething from the interaction.

Fuck him, Evan thinks viciously, turning to go.

He doesn’t need Jared anyway.

*

Connor’s pretty sure his dad hates him.

Between the barely hidden disapproval in his eyes and his general dismissive demeanor whenever they’re forced to share the same space, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.

Things have been tense and uncomfortable between them for as long as Connor can remember. It feels like Larry always has some comment to make, talks too much about what Connor’s doing wrong and barely at all what he manages right.

It’s easier when they’re focused on other things. When Larry’s so hyper focused on work that he doesn’t have a moment to spare, Connor can slink through another day without drawing too much attention. A busy workweek for Larry does wonders for their family morale. Connor almost feels like he can breathe for once.

But nothing good ever lasts for long.

Larry gets angry when he thinks Connor isn’t trying hard enough to be more of a ‘go-getter’ like him, takes this patronizing, snappy tone that mixes terribly with Connor’s tendency toward causal sarcasm, setting them both off.

They fight, the breakfast table their battlefield, and his mom and sister helpless bystanders.

Eventually, Larry retreats, like he always does, can’t leave the table quick enough. Would rather be at the office than here with his fucked up son.

It’s days like this that Connor doesn’t feel much like inflicting himself onto the world anymore than he has to. Ignoring his mother’s pleas, he ascends the staircase in a rush and barricades himself in his room.

He gets obscenely stoned and stews in it for a while, lets himself feel every shitty feeling until he’s wrung himself dry and doesn’t have the energy to think.

He closes his eyes and wishes he could just float away.

He settles for sleep.

*

A knock on his door is what finally rouses him some indefinite time later.

“Go away.” He shouts, burying his face deeper into his pillow.

The knock comes a second time, more insistent.

“Connor?” 

Connor jerks upright on the bed. He rubs tiredly at his face, and then, “It’s unlocked.”

“Are you all right?” Evan asks as he closes the door behind him.

“Not really,” he says, because he doesn’t want to lie to Evan, but then Evan winces and Connor almost immediately reconsiders. “It’s just Larry, you know?”

“Oh.” Evan says, nodding slowly. He wrings his hands for a moment, hovering awkwardly without coming closer.

“Do you want to go some where?” Connor asks, hit abruptly with the urge to get out of the house. He feels itchy all of the sudden, like his skin doesn’t fit right, like he needs to leave. “Like the orchard or, I don’t know—”

“We could go to my house,” Evan offers. “My mom won’t be home until later, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”

Something wound tight within Connor’s chest loosens. “That actually sounds pretty cool.” 

Evan smiles faintly and he takes a step closer to the bed. “You wanna go now?”

Connor grins.

*

“So, what happened with your dad?” Evan asks, struggling with his seatbelt.

“Same shit, different day,” Connor says, placing a cigarette between his teeth before lighting up with a huff. “He takes great pride in disapproving of my general existence.”

Evan exhales tightly though his nose, finally managing to secure his belt, and frowns. “Has it always been like that?”

Connor makes a vague gesture with the hand not currently on the wheel, shrugging with one shoulder. He backs the car out of the driveway in a smooth glide of rubber on concrete and pulls onto the street. “Mostly. I’m kind of a massive disappointment,” he notes bitterly.

“We have that in common, I guess.” Evan mutters, turning his head to look out the window. “My dad doesn’t like me very much either.” 

The nicotine settles some of the buzzing in his system, but still Connor doesn’t feel any better. 

Of course he doesn’t. “No?”

Evan nods, a sharp jerk of motion. “He left when I was seven.”

“Shit.” Connor says when Evan doesn’t offer up anything else. He’s not going to push him for details even if he finds himself wanting to. 

Connor drums his fingers on the steering wheel, searching for something to say.

“I wouldn’t mind if my dad left at this point,” is what he settles on. Him and his treacherous fucking mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Evan’s head turn toward him. “You really mean that?”

Connor takes another drag off the cigarette, nodding. “Yeah, he could fuck right off and I’d be pleased as punch. I can’t stand him.”

Connor pauses, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette, watching it float out the open window. 

“And it’s not like I’m so deluded that I can’t see shit for what it is. I know I’m hard to like. That I’m _difficult_ or whatever. But that’s _all_ he sees, I don’t get an ounce of nuance when he’s grinding me down. I’m only lazy, or manipulative, or scheming. It’s all about how my shit inconveniences him, so yeah, I’d say good riddance.”

He brings what’s left of the cigarette back to lips and finishes it off quickly, flicking the filter out the window without much thought. His hand is a little shaky when he brings it back to the wheel. Connor tenses his muscles hoping Evan won’t notice.

In the passenger seat, Evan is quiet, which is not in itself strange, far from it, but after what Connor had just said it leaves him feeling wary and a little exposed.

His fingers twitch. He wants another cigarette, but knows he shouldn’t.

“When my dad divorced my mom, he moved across the country.” Evan says, breaking the silence. 

Connor tries to hide his surprise. He hadn’t anticipated this conversation being anything but one-way.

“And it wasn’t like a gradual thing,” Evan continues, voice soft, maybe even a little flat. “More like one day there was a U-Haul in our driveway and it was all over. They, uh, tried to keep me in my room so I wouldn’t see him packing, but I could see the truck from my window and at the time I was like obsessed with trucks, so I left my room and I begged them to let me sit at the wheel, and luckily enough, they let me.” Evan smiles then, but it’s full of bitterness, looks wrong on his face. “Up until the very end they were pretending like everything was normal, just like every other day, but then he was done packing and next thing I know he just… gone. No one explained it to me until after.”

Connor’s fingers tighten around the wheel and he risks another glance towards Evan, feeling caught between curiosity and concern. “Do you still talk?”

Evan shrugs weakly. “He and my stepmom, they have their own kids now, so, he’ll call on holidays and birthdays, but, uh, the kids are his priority and I’m, uh, well, I’m more of an obligation? Like a box he needs to check. And I guess I should be grateful because he doesn’t get on my case about being more social at school or constantly remind me to take better care of myself or like, bother me about earning enough scholarships for college.” 

It’s only then that Evan lets out a frustrated noise, the thin exterior of indifference cracking, “But I think the only reason he doesn’t do any of those things is because he doesn’t have particularly strong feelings about anything that I do one way or another. I just don’t _inspire_ those kind of feelings in him, I guess.”

Connor slows to a stop at a light and looks at Evan. Just looks at him. He thinks about his own father who wants him to be someone he’s not. He thinks about Evan’s who apparently wanted to be a father, just not _his_. 

Something awful twists in Connor’s stomach.

And then the light turns green, so he goes. 

“Do you think things would have been better if he stayed?” Connor asks, not sure why it matters so much.

“Probably not.” Evan huffs, settling back into the same flat voice as before. 

When Connor glances at Evan again he’s fidgeting with his cast, bitten down nails digging into the fraying ends. “They argued a lot. I used to think it was about me. That felt even worse.”

“I guess it sucks either way.” Connor says.

Evan nods slowly. “It sucks either way.”

*

Evan only remembers he had skipped lunch when his stomach gurgles loudly as they enter the house. He hasn’t eaten since— well, he can’t actually remember when. Yesterday maybe. He remembers scrambled eggs. Breakfast then. Probably yesterday.

Connor eases himself cautiously inside, taking in the interior with a degree of muted curiosity.

“Are you hungry?” Evan asks, moving into the kitchen, flipping on the light.

Connor trails after him, his eyes scanning everything from the cabinets to the pantry as he goes, before quietly admitting he could eat.

Evan pries open the freezer and fumbles with its contents for a moment before deciding on a crushed box of pizza rolls.

“Are you okay with these?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Connor’s eyes go to a photo pinned to the fridge. “Your mom is almost never around, right?”

Evan makes a soft, considering sound and goes to pour the pizza rolls out onto a bake tray. “She works at the county hospital and she usually takes the late shifts, so when I’m at school she’s usually sleeping and when I’m here she’s usually at work.”

Connor hums thoughtfully. “It must be nice to have so much space to yourself.”

“It gets lonely,” Evan mumbles, loading the tray into the oven. “I think it’s cool how you always have somebody at home,” he swallows awkwardly, “sometimes I wish I had that.”

Connor moves away from the fridge only to lean against the counter, watching him. “You wouldn’t if you did. Someone always there to constantly pick at every little flaw, someone to criticize every last thing that you do.”

“Zoe seems pretty nice.” Evan mumbles distractedly, busying himself with the instructions on the back of the packaging. 

“Zoe?” Connor repeats, his eyebrows lifting. 

Evan sets the box down, the shift in Connor’s voice catching his attention. “Yeah?”

“You spoke to her for like five seconds,” Connor says, and _shit_ , he sounds pissed.

Evan opens and closes his mouth, unsure what to say to that because yeah, okay, he hardly knows her, but he also doesn’t understand why that matters.

“I’ve seen her around school before too.” He says quickly, racking his brain for what he could’ve done to make Connor upset. “She’s always helping with the environmental club and at dinner it felt like she was trying to defuse things with you and your dad. I don’t know.” Evan says, trailing off, “It’s pretty cool— she’s pretty cool.”

“Evan.” Connor’s hand twitches on the countertop, expression growing pinched. “If we’re only hanging out because you have some weird crush on my sister—”

Evan’s stomach lurches uncomfortably, finally piecing it together, and all at once he wishes he could just melt into the floor, just cease to be completely.

“That’s not what I—” Evan stammers, horrified. “I just meant that she’s so nice and that I really like her—”

“Yeah, I think I got that.” Connor snaps, his tone sharp with accusation, and it surprises Evan, the force of it, the sudden and real frustration there.

Evan finds himself shrinking back, posture curling over; that doomed, awful sensation of fucking up without meaning to hitting him right in the chest. 

Connor must notice because Evan watches him visibly yank himself back under control only a moment later, expression untwisting and smoothing out into something a little less hostile. 

“Fine, that’s— ok.” Connor says, gentling his voice in degrees. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad, just wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m the one that’s sorry,” Evan stutters out, eyes downcast. “I’m not making any sense and it’s so stupid because I’m just trying— I was trying to, uh, like give you a compliment.”

Connor exhales tightly through his nose, his expression carefully neutral. “Okay?”

“She, like, obviously cares about you a lot,” Evan says, wincing when Connor lets out a laugh like he thinks Evan might be brain addled. “No, really. You might not see it, but she does. She _sees_ you. And I— I’m jealous I don’t have someone like that around. Like, when I was young, I begged my parents for a sibling, I _dreamed_ of having a brother or sister, and now—”

He doesn’t actually want to talk about his father anymore than he already has, their conversation in the car still fresh in his mind. Doesn’t want to think about how miles and miles away he has a brother and a sister. Siblings that he’ll probably never speak to, never relate to. A brother and a sister who he’ll never know and who’ll never _know_ him.

“I’m just saying that at least you have someone,” Evan says quietly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Even if you don’t always like them.”

“I’ve got you, don’t I?” Connor says after a moment. 

He looks calm now, less like he’s trying not to be angry, and more like he’s embarrassed that he ever was. He catches Evan’s eye and his mouth quirks up just slightly, a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. “And I like you plenty.”

Evan gets a flicker in his chest that feels like panic but isn’t, fast and fluttering.

And then his breath hitches and _stops_. “I’m sorry about—”

“You don’t have to do that.” Connor says quickly, interrupting him before he can get even the beginnings of the apology out. “I was the one being an asshole. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

Evan nods, diverting his gaze down to his hands. He twists his fingers in his shirt, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t actually turn the oven on,” Evan admits after a minute of strained silence. He reaches over and presses the proper buttons for the oven to pre-heat and turns back to Connor.

“We could sit down, maybe watch something.” He suggests, gesturing vaguely toward the living room. “The food won’t be ready for a little bit.”

They settle on the couch and Evan fiddles with the remote for a few minutes, mindlessly flipping channels until he lands on a nature documentary he’s seen before, but doesn’t mind watching again. He leaves it there for a minute, quietly gauging Connor’s reaction, and when it seems the other boy is content with his choice, Evan drops the remote onto the couch between them.

The background noise of the TV is comforting, but Evan can’t focus, too distracted by Connor’s presence to really immerse himself in anything the narrator is saying.

His eyes stray from the screen. “Are you going to come to school tomorrow?”

“Maybe.” Connor answers shortly. He kicks his feet out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle. “Why? You miss me today?”

Evan nods his head a little too eagerly.

“Free periods are awful when you skip.” Evan says, smiling faintly. “You know I can’t talk to anyone else.”

Smirking at the TV screen, Connor hums. “I am an amazing conversationalist.”

Evan snorts out a laugh. “Okay, but don’t let it, like, go to your head.”

Connor snickers softly and Evan feels himself relax just a little bit more.

They watch more of the documentary in a comfortable sort of quiet and when the oven dings, Evan gets up to plate their pizza rolls.

They eat them way too fast, and burn their mouths on too-hot cheese, but neither of them really mind.

It feels normal.

*

Connor comes to school on Thursday and the expression on Evan’s face is so profoundly relieved that Connor can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him.

They linger in the halls during passing periods; press their luck with the bell when they can, waving each other off when they’re forced to part.

It’s bad enough that they hardly have any of the same classes, only English class near the middle of the day and lunch period to really do anything more.

When the final bell does come, all Connor wants to do is find Evan and grab something greasy from the burger place by Evan’s house or have a smoke outside and listen to Evan talk about his day.

Only, Evan’s not in their usual spot.

Connor rounds the corner, just in case he’s still at his locker, only taking a couple of steps before he’s stopping dead in his tracks.

A few yards away, by his locker, Evan is talking to Zoe.

Which is… fine.

Evan’s his own person, he’s allowed to talk to whomever he likes, when he likes. 

Connor hoovers awkwardly for a second, unsure whether his presence would be welcomed or not. Evan had made it clear the night before that he wasn’t interested in Zoe like that, which had been more of a relief than Connor had realized it would be.

He was being ridiculous. He should just let them finish up their chat.

But then Evan does this fucking shy look-away-and-smile thing when Zoe laughs and Connor’s stomach twists unpleasantly.

He’s never been good at tampering his jealousy.

He tries swallowing around it, forcing it down, but then her hand comes up and she’s touching Evan’s arm, returning the smile with her own, a perfect display of teeth, her eyes fucking twinkling.

That reckless feeling crests in him again. 

Before he knows it, he’s moving, picking his pace back up across the hallway floor. Zoe notices him first and while her expression doesn’t change, her hand drops from Evan’s arm, almost like she _knows_ exactly what she was doing. He closes the distance, filling the space she’s left, and slings an arm around Evan’s neck, corralling him in.

He half expects Evan to flinch at the unexpected touch, but for whatever reason he doesn’t, easily accepting Connor’s sudden embrace.

“Oh, hey,” Evan says, turning under Connor’s arm so his hold is around his shoulders instead of shrugging him off completely. “There you are.”

“I was just inviting Evan to go see that new documentary on Alex Honnold that’s coming out Friday,” Zoe cuts in to explain since she’s _apparently_ friends with Evan now, as though she’s earned it. “I thought it would be fun if we all—”

“Don’t you have your own friends?” He sneers, and it comes out brittle and defensive, shows his fear, his weakness. “Stop poaching mine.”

Zoe jerks back almost imperceptibly, flushing. “Connor—”

“Save it.” Connor’s lip curls up at the corner. It’s hardly even a snarl, but it’s one that lets her know she’s on thin ice and it’s going to break sooner than either one of them realizes if she doesn’t back off quickly.

Zoe takes a faltering step back, raising her hands in surrender. She glances at Evan, an apology in her eyes, like she’s sorry on _his_ behalf, “I’ll see you later, Evan.”

She leaves without another word.

Evan mumbles out a goodbye of his own, turning to fix Connor with a confused little frown. Much to Connor’s surprise he doesn’t shrug Connor off or push him away. He stays tucked under the umbrella of Connor’s arm, even inches closer to Connor’s side.

“What was that?” He asks, his voice barely rising above the chatter of the hallway.

Connor doesn’t have a good answer to that.

He drops his arm to his side and takes a step away from Evan.

His gaze drops to the floor. “Are you coming or not?” 

*

“You didn’t have to be mean,” Evan huffs out later, when they’re alone in Connor’s car. He looks calmer than Connor knows he is; can see his hands trembling slightly, notices the way his eyes shift out the window, scanning the school parking lot. “If you don’t want me talking to Zoe you should’ve said something.”

“I’m not worried about you,” Connor assures him, gripping the steering wheel way too tight. It’s mostly the truth, but not entirely. “I’m worried about her.”

“What? That’s she’s going to _poach_ me?” Evan’s jaw is clenched tight when he says it, a pissed off little crinkle between his eyebrows, and Connor suddenly feels so painfully transparent. The anger fizzles out of him all at once and all that’s left is a deep sense of how fast he’s managed to fuck this all up.

Evan pins him down with a look like he’s _disappointed_ of all things.

“Connor, I like Zoe. She’s really nice. But I don’t like her more than I like you. Why don’t you get that?”

He’s not quite expecting _that_ and Connor can feel in real time the vibrant flush painting his face from his nose to his cheeks. Even when Evan’s trying to chew him out, he’s so fucking _nice_ about it.

Beside him, Evan is still stewing in his seat, arms crossed, lips turned down in a vaguely reproachful frown. “If you really don’t want us to be friends, just tell me. I don’t want to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

“No. Fuck that.” Connor bites out, wishing this conversation could just be over. “I’m being stupid. Just forget it.”

“Connor…” Evan’s voice, usually meek is now strained with something like exasperation. “I don’t want to forget it if it makes you this unhappy.”

Evan’s eyes track Connor’s, close and inescapable. Connor stares back at him, his head full of static. Usually right about now he’d already be yelling, lashing out blindly without even understanding the target. This should feel like an ambush, another rug swept from under him and a kick while he’s down. Instead it’s something else.

It’s easy to admit it, quietly to himself, that Connor wants exactly what Evan’s offering up. Would love it if Evan never looked Zoe’s way again.

But what he really wants, if he’s being honest, is to dig his fingers into Evan deep enough for Evan to not be able to shake him loose.

He doesn’t want him to leave.

Connor’s practically vibrating now, and he’s not sure if it’s the stress of Evan witnessing him act so childishly or the fierceness of his jealousy or the fact that he hasn’t had a smoke in almost seven hours or a combination of the three. 

“I shouldn’t have said those things to her,” he says, each word coming out of him slowly as if they’re being pulled out with pliers. “I was just— I saw you both talking and I felt, like, jealous? It’s hard with her. We’re always being compared, me and Zoe, and she always wins. She’s the normal one, and I’m…” Connor swallows, “I’m me, okay? I don’t particularly like being reminded of that.”

It feels inadequate as far as an explanation goes, and maybe it is. Evan looks at him like he’s trying to decide that himself. In the end he seems to feel it is, or that it’s not worth the effort to press the matter any further because his arms uncross and the pinched expression relaxes into something less scolding.

“You should apologize to her.” Evan says shortly, biting his lip, eyes dropping to where his fingers are now busy shredding the edge of his cast.

There’s no sense in arguing, so Connor grunts an affirmative, dropping his own gaze, embarrassment still sitting heavy in his gut.

“I’m sorry that you’ve ever felt like you weren’t enough,” Evan continues, and Connor feels like he’s getting some serious whiplash from this conversation, but his eye shoot up, connecting with Evan’s, the other boy looking over the center console with a soft, sad expression. “And I know it’s not something that’ll like, disappear overnight, but you should know that you are— you’re _more_ than enough. And not that it’s a competition, but you’re my favorite Murphy, so if that’s what you’re worried about…” Evan grants him the smallest of smiles, “… don’t.”

Connor’s surprised into stillness for a moment, that jittery, sick feeling of shame and disappointment easing back.

“Are we okay, Connor?” Evan asks, uncertainty entering his voice for the first time since they got into Connor’s car.

Connor nods quickly, because yes, they’re more than okay.

At least he thinks.

He feels a dawning sort of awareness come to life inside of him.

He likes Evan. Connor _likes_ Evan.

And it’s as simple and as complicated as that.


	4. chapter four

Physical affection is somewhat of an iffy subject for Evan.

In general, people have always seemed to keep a healthy distance from him. Orbiting around him. Never straying too close. 

And for the most part, that’s been fine with him. It’s not like Evan’s actively inviting that kind of intimacy into his life either.

So, it isn’t a big deal.

Which is what makes it so confusing when, out of the blue, Connor Murphy begins touching him _a lot_ and suddenly it is.

Now there’s an arm wrapped around his shoulders whenever they’re walking through the halls, fingers brushing against his wrist when Connor wants his attention. Connor pokes him when Evan gets lost in thought. He nudges his foot against Evan’s under the table at lunch while they’re talking. Presses closer than he needs to when they talk, like he can’t stand the distance, however slight.

Friends are affectionate, sure, but since becoming Connor’s friend, Evan’s been touched, patted, squeezed, and hugged more than he ever has in his entire life.

And not to brag, but Evan likes to think that he’s been doing a good job of handling it, taking this new development in stride without making things between them _weird_.

Not that Connor touching him is even remotely a problem.

If he’s being honest with himself, Evan has to admit that he likes the attention more than he should. There’s something so endearing and so _pleasing_ to his stupid hormonal brain to be handled in that kind of way, almost possessively, that he forgets to be worried. Because there’s something undeniably nice about feeling wanted for once.

Even if Connor doesn’t mean anything by it. Evan can handle that.

It’s—

It’s fine. He’s not going to make a big deal out it or anything.

He just doesn’t want it to stop. 

*

It’s in Evan’s living room one evening, a mostly picked through pizza box on the coffee table, and the television blaring in the background, that things, well, _progress_.

Connor’s supposed to be working on a chemistry paper, 'supposed to be' being the operative words, but instead he’s stretched out on the floor, lazily flipping through one of the old issues of National Geographic that Evan keeps stacked in his room, seemingly content just to lounge in the same space while Evan stares glumly at his laptop screen. He has an article on prescribed burning practices in North American forests pulled up that would be perfect for the annotated bibliography he’s working on, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the words, Evan’s eyes seem to drift.

Watching Connor read on his living room floor just seems more interesting.

Because Connor is pretty. 

Distractingly so.

And if, every once in awhile, Evan peaks out from behind his laptop to take a look, it’s okay. Evan’s being discreet. Allows himself only a quick glimpse just to take him in. His high cheekbones, his long limbs, his _eyes_. They’re things that Evan has noticed before now, but not things he’s ever let himself think too hard on, especially early on, when he wasn’t sure Connor was even serious about being friends. Now that they’ve grown closer it’s like he can’t stop, has become greedy for every stolen glance.

On the floor, Connor rolls onto his back, abandoning the magazine off to the side. His eyes slant over towards Evan, a bored look on his face. “Are you done yet?”

Evan hums to indicate he’s listening, subtly shifting his attention back to his computer least Connor catch him staring. “Almost. I just need to finish reading this article.”

Connor groans loudly, a little dramatic, and mostly for show. “When’s it due?”

“Not until Friday.” Evan answers shortly as his eyes scan over the same paragraph he’s already read for what’s probably the fourth time now.

Craning his neck to get a better look at him, Connor hums happily. “Fuck your article then. Take a break with me.”

Evan drags his attention away from his laptop, frowning. “Don’t you have something school-related you should be doing?”

Connor makes another sound, a sound that’s probably meant to communicate how his soul is about to physically leave his body if Evan doesn’t indulge him soon. “Fuck, Evan. Please?”

“And do what?” Evan asks, already caving, folding his laptop shut. 

“I could paint your nails.” Connor offers up, almost immediately, grinning wide as he peels himself off the floor.

Evan startles when a moment later Connor drops down beside him on the couch, taking one of Evan’s hands into his own without warning, inspecting the neatly trimmed nails he finds. 

There’s a swoop low in Evan’s gut as if he’s been dropped from a great height when Connor shifts even closer, their knees bumping in their proximity, their thighs pressing together. Evan does his best not react outwardly, and heaves a sigh of relief when Connor pulls away to retrieve his backpack from the floor. 

Digging through its contents, Connor lines the bottles up, one by one on the coffee table, flashing Evan a smile once he’s finished.

Evan returns the smile shyly and then turns his attention back to the line of polishes. “So, we’re really doing this then?”

“I’m pretty good at painting other people’s nails, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Connor reassures him, dropping back into his seat next to Evan. “Zoe used to make me paint hers all the time when we were younger.” 

“It’s not that” Evan denies immediately. He feels his cheeks tinge with pink. “Just don’t think it’ll look good on me.”

Their knees bump as Connor leans into him, tapping their shoulders together. “You ever try it?”

Evan shakes his head.

“I’ll take it off later if you hate it.” Connor promises him. “So, what do you think?”

“Anything blue.” Evan admits haltingly, scanning the bottles. He bites his lip considering his options. “So, this one, maybe?”

He picks up one of the smaller bottles and looks it over.

“Huh,” he says, holding it up to the light. His eyes flicker between the vial and Connor’s face. “It’s almost the same shade as your eyes.”

Connor lifts an eyebrow, radiating quiet amusement, the corner of his lip quirking upward.

“Sorry,” Evan says immediately, once he registers how it sounds. He lets his hand drop, fingers numb. “That was— that was a really weird thing to say.” He lets out a laugh, choked and tight. “I’m totally ruining this, aren’t I?” 

He hates the way his cheeks burn hot with shame and he’s already dying slowly and steadily inside imagining all the horrible things Connor could say right now.

But Connor just snorts softly, clearly unperturbed. 

“Blue it is then.” he says, plucking the bottle from Evan’s grasp. 

He takes Evan’s hand into his own, keeping his touch light as he does, obviously wary of spooking him, before setting it down gently on his own knee while he uncaps the polish. 

Evan flexes his fingers uncertainly, but then the warmth of Connor’s palm is back, and he doesn’t have to worry about accidentally groping Connor’s knee anymore, only now all he can think about is how they’re basically _holding hands_ and how nice it feels, and how that’s somehow _worse_.

He manages to hold out a while without making a scene over it, but there comes a point where Evan thinks he might be shaking, and as soon as he becomes aware of it, Connor’s thumb happens to swipe absently across Evan’s pulse, tracing along the sensitive skin in what is probably meant to be a calming motion, but is anything but. 

It only takes a few more passes of Connor’s thumb against his wrist that Evan becomes aware that his palm is sweating now, hot and clammy in Connor’s grasp. Horrified, Evan’s not thinking when he tugs his hand back, the compulsion to wipe away the evidence of his nerves almost overwhelming. But before he can get too far Connor’s grip tightens and Evan’s met with a soft but chiding “keep still” as his hand is pulled back into place.

“S-sorry.” Evan stutters out, forcing himself into stillness.

Connor’s eyes flicker upward, scanning over Evan’s face briefly before settling back. He brings the wet brush down to Evan’s nails slowly, almost as though he expects Evan might pull away again, delicately applying another layer. 

“You look like you’re in pain,” he says after awhile, and there’s no teasing lilt in his voice anymore. Evan thinks Connor almost sounds _disappointed_. “Is this really that bad?”

“It’s not bad,” Evan chokes out, taking a deep breath. Settles himself deeper against the couch cushion. “I’m just—”

“Nervous?” Connor cuts in, looking up. “Should I stop?”

“It’s not anything you’re doing.” Evan denies, immediately defensive and hastily assuring. “I’m just defective or something.”

He only says it because he thinks it might make Connor laugh, that a little jab at his own expense might be enough to alleviate the awkwardness just slightly, but it hits entirely wrong and Connor’s frown only seems to deepen. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say shit like that.” Connor’s fingers slip and the brush goes over the tip of Evan’s nail onto the skin. Hissing his displeasure, Connor quickly swipes at the edge of Evan’s finger with his thumb, catching the color before it can dry.

Chastised, Evan offers a mumbled “sorry” in apology for his clumsy attempt at levity.

“Don’t be.” Connor says back, jaw tense as though he’s wrestling with some unwanted emotions of his own. He doesn’t look up, concentrating intently on Evan’s hand instead. “I’m not— I don’t know, trying to make this harder for you. Lots of people struggle with anxiety. That’s fine, I don’t care. I just want you to be comfortable.”

It’s touching that Connor cares, but part of him wishes Connor didn’t have to be so careful with him, didn’t have to approach every move he makes concerned that it might startle Evan into a panic. Evan wants to be easy.

“I don’t struggle with it,” Evan says, his stupid mouth working without his permission, relieved despite himself when Connor tears his eyes away from Evan’s nails long enough to send him a questioning look.

“I don’t struggle with anxiety,” he clarifies, lightening his voice. “It actually comes pretty easily to me.”

The joke lands this time, thankfully, and Connor huffs out a surprised laugh. 

The effect is immediate, like popping a balloon. The tension that had been building between them deflating all at once, dissipating into the air. Evan cracks a smile, a little shaky, but noticeably less fragile, pleased beyond reason when Connor lifts his head to return it.

“Do you get help for it?” Connor asks after a moment, eyes flickering back down, dragging another stripe of paint across his nails. “Or do you just cope through shitty jokes?”

Following Connor’s gaze, Evan’s attention gets caught on the steady motion of it, calmed for the time being. He takes another deep breath in. “Help like what?”

“Like do you talk to someone about what’s going on up there,” Connor pulls away long enough to make a vague gesture around his head, “you know, that kind of shit.”

A burst of humor courses through him. “I talk to you,” Evan says, knowing that’s not at all what Connor’s hedging at.

As expected, Connor rolls his eyes at the deflection. “I mean like a professional.”

Evan shrugs. “My mom makes me see a therapist every other week.” He doesn’t mention the medication. As close as they’re getting, there are still limits. “He gives me these writing assignments that are supposed to help me with, um, keeping positive? Apparently, I’m prone to catastrophizing.”

“And does it do anything?” Connor asks, “Do the assignments help?”

Evan snorts. “Does it look like they do?”

The corner of Connor’s lip quirks upward. “I’m perceptive, Evan, not a fucking mind reader.”

Again, Evan shrugs, careful not to let the movement shift Connor’s grip too much. “I don’t know, not really? It kind of feels like pretending, and when I try to explain that I get told that I’m not giving the process a chance, and that I need to push myself a little harder, but at this point, between my therapist and my mom and my teachers, I think I’m becoming a little desensitized to the adults in my life telling me to try harder, so I guess it’s hard to say.”

Beside him, Connor hums sympathetically. 

“You’re trying now,” he says, and it comes off as a little dismissive, as if that’s all there is to it. And maybe it is, but Evan isn’t sure.

Evan ducks his head, feeling more vulnerable than he’d like.

“It’s easier with you,” he tries to explain. “You don’t make me feel like shit for being—” Evan bites back the comment that automatically comes to mind, realizing that anything too self-deprecating will trigger another contentious silence that he’d rather avoid.

“Twitchy?” Connor supplies after a beat of silence.

Evan nods. Close enough anyway. “Sure.”

“I don’t mind that you’re twitchy,” Connor goes on. “Just like you don’t seem to mind that I’m a terrible asshole most of the time.”

Evan shakes his head. “You’re never an asshole to me.”

“I have been. You’re just too forgiving for your own good.” Connor huffs, partially exasperated and partially amused, before sending a pointed look at Evan’s nails. “Well, what do you think? Am I getting that five star rating on Yelp or what?”

Casting his gaze down, Evan fans his fingers out, examining them.

“They’re, uh,” Evan doesn’t know how to describe them exactly. He thinks he likes the way they stand out. How they pop, bright and vibrant against his skin. “They’re cute.”

“Just cute?” Connor asks, and there’s an exaggerated indignant air to his tone, “You looked cute before. I was looking for something a little more than that honestly.”

Evan feels his heart jerk, and he throws Connor a confused sort of smile. “I looked cute before?” He says it intentionally light, with a tone engineered to make it seem like he’s not completely thrown by the comment.

Connor’s grin only seems to widen, lopsided and gorgeous and so frustrating. “Yeah, didn’t you know?”

Evan feels something bubble up in his chest, something reckless and hopeful.

He inhales sharply. “No?”

“Well, you do.” Connor assures him, and he’s looking intently at Evan now. “You look cute.”

Evan flushes, exhaling a soft laugh, resisting the urge to cover his face. 

“Oh,” he breathes. 

Evan’s heart takes a pathetic leap.

He has to get a grip right now before he lets this feeling get out of hand.

He’s wildly unprepared for it though, the sheer force with which the longing for more crashes down on him. Recognizes that somewhere along the line he’s obviously misunderstood _something_ because Connor would never want him like _that_ , but his traitorous heart still hasn’t got the memo on that front just yet.

“Evan?” 

There’s a tiny furrow between Connor’s brows, his face pinched and so painfully expressive.

Evan wants to kiss him, the urge almost crippling.

Maybe he doesn’t have a handle on this after all. 

Maybe the reason their friendship worked so well before was that there was always a buffer, a self-imposed distance that made everything safe and easy. But Connor had opened the door to something that Evan was having trouble resisting. Something that made Evan feel greedy and stupidly lovesick.

He’s not supposed to feel this way about Connor.

Evan’s not supposed to feel _any_ of this—

His gaze drops to the floor. He pulls away. 

The furrow between Connor’s brow deepens, his hands chasing after him. “Hey—“

Evan jerks back, escapes before Connor can bridge the gap.

“Can you give me a second?” Evan says, his heart somewhere in his throat. His voice comes out surprisingly even, no hint of a tremor, no flicker of panic detectable. 

He doesn’t stick around for a reply, doesn’t even look up to see Connor’s reactions, just pushes himself off of the couch as soon as the words leave his lips and tears off in the direction of the nearest way out.

He settles for the hallway bathroom, and it’s only until the door is locked behind him that Evan lets himself fall apart. Every inch of him is trembling now and his heart feels like it trying to burst out his chest, beating triple the speed it’s supposed to.

Fuck, he can’t believe he just, that he almost—

The thing is, the logical part of his brain knows that Connor’s just teasing, trying to get him to just _fucking_ relax for once in his life. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean what Evan _thinks_ it means. What he _wants_ it to mean anyway. It’s a joke. It’s _funny_. Because Evan always _reacts_.

And yet the illogical part of Evan still lurches inside whenever Connor so much as _looks_ at him. He flushes, stammers and trips. He hopes for things he shouldn’t.

It’s pathetic.

 _He’s_ pathetic, Evan thinks at himself viciously, digging his fingernails into his palms.

Evan lets his mind go blank, he counts to ten, he breathes. Reminds himself that not so far away, Connor is waiting for him, unaware of just how much of a mess he really is. 

He just needs to get through _this_ , and then he can cry all he wants, can dissolve into a puddle, weak and so, so stupid but _later_ , he’ll have to do that later.

For now, Evan wipes roughly at his eyes with the back of his forearm, refusing to let the weight of his disappointment crush him just yet. Cobbles together some semblance of composure because the absolute last thing he wants is pity, before he’s clumsily tugging the bathroom door open again, forcing himself back into the hallway.

Connor must hear the sound of the door, because as soon as Evan passes over the threshold, Connor’s head is turning, pivoting around to spot Evan over the edge of the couch. He opens his mouth, clearly to address Evan’s panicked retreat from only moments before, only to freeze, eyes zeroing in at something at Evan’s side. “Shit, Evan. What happened?”

Evan stops dead in his tracks.

He had checked himself over in the mirror before coming out. He had looked _fine_. 

“What are you talking about?”

Grimacing slightly, Connor points down at his side, “Your nails?”

Evan looks down and feels his stomach lurch dangerously, his breath catching. “Fuck.”

The polish is smeared across the tips of his nails and Evan can see blue clinging to the palms of his hands.

_Idiot._

He thinks Connor might roll his eyes, throw his hands in the air with exasperation and call it night. He thinks Connor might _yell_ , might call him names, and lament about time wasted and an evening ruined by Evan’s ineptitude. 

Instead, Connor looks _concerned_. He braces his hands against the couch and quickly levers himself up, approaching Evan, almost like he expects him to startle and disappear. Once he’s close enough his hands settle on Evan’s wrists, gentle, as if Evan’s something fragile. As if he’s something precious, and it’s ridiculous, _stupid_ , but it feels that way. And that feeling, the _sharpness_ of it, the dizzying sense of relief at Connor’s touch, the way his body seems to automatically shift closer, is _too much_.

“It’s okay, Evan. It’s really not a big deal.”

Evan makes a small noise, feeling caught.

“Really, it’s okay.” Connor continues, fingers drifting slowly up his arm, the warmth soaking into his skin. “I’m not mad.”

Evan swallows thickly, shakes his head. 

Connor doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at him.

“I can’t help unless I know why you’re upset.” There’s an edge of frustration in his voice that Evan can’t help but feel responsible for.

“I don’t know,” he says helplessly, unable to offer Connor anything more.

“I’m not mad.” Connor repeats, like maybe Evan hadn’t heard him. He still hasn’t let go of Evan’s arm.

“I know,” Evan tells him. And he does. “I’m just scared.”

Connor’s eyebrows draw together. “Of what?”

He doesn’t want to say, but as it usually goes with Connor, everything comes bubbling up anyway.

“You keep touching me.” Evan blurts out, unable to keep the words in any longer. “All the time. And I _like_ it, when I shouldn’t. And I don’t understand _why_.”

Connor looks at him strangely. “You don’t understand why you like it or you don’t understand why I’m touching you?”

Evan’s voice comes out a little strangled, humiliated. “Why me.”

“That’s what scares you?” Connor asks, his voice tight, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “The idea that I find you attractive?””

He tosses the words out as if they’re nothing. As if he’s remarking on the weather or something equally banal. 

Evan’s throat feels like it’s closing up. His cheeks are scalding.

“But you don’t.” Evan stresses, annoyance tearing through him suddenly, brutal and agonizing. “You don’t like me like that. We’re friends and I keep confusing it for something it’s not.”

Connor leans closer, almost hesitant, looking pained. “Evan, stop talking.”

Evan wants to wipe the expression from his face, his own body already scorched hot from shame, every second inside this moment excruciating and unbearable. “I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s stupid, just forget it.”

“Evan, stop.”

Connor’s fingers tighten around his arms, holding him still, and his lips part just barely, just enough that when he forces the words out on a hiss, Evan feels it. 

And then something inexplicable happens.

Connor kisses him.

*

He doesn’t take a deep breath beforehand, doesn’t build up to it, just sort of sways forward until his lips are brushing over Evan’s, plush and warm. 

Quick, careful, uncomplicated pressure that has Evan gasping in surprise. His fingers clutch at empty air as Connor presses closer, and Evan feels himself grow light-headed and faint in the span of a few seconds, Connor’s mouth leaving him dizzy and wanting, the gnawing kind that starts low in his belly, bubbling to the surface with a violence. Connor kisses him until Evan’s mouth opens underneath him, until Evan’s breathing has goes labored and ragged against Connor’s lips.

When Connor does break away, he looks reluctant, examining Evan’s face in the low light of the living room. A few strands of his hair fall forward framing their faces, gently tickling Evan’s cheek.

“Was that okay?” Connor asks.

“Yeah.” Evan answers, voice hoarse. He thinks he’s nodding. He’s not entirely sure he’s breathing. “It was good.”

 _Good_ is a woefully inadequate description, but Evan’s brain hasn’t fully caught up with reality just yet, so _good_ is all that he can manage. He thinks his body might be _tingling_.

“I do, by the way.” Evan doesn’t recognize the husk in Connor’s voice, but the adoration in his eyes is terrifyingly familiar. “Like you like that. If that’s not completely fucking obvious by now.”

While Evan digests this information, Connor takes a measured step back, and the hand still holding Evan’s wrist lifts, bringing Evan’s ruined nails into view.

“Will you let me re-do them?” he asks after a moment, and it’s not at all what Evan expects him to say, but he finds himself nodding all the same.

“If you— If you want,” Evan stutters out.

“Okay.” Connor agrees, guiding Evan back toward the couch. “Just don’t mess them up this time.” He says this with a smile, jokingly, almost _flirty_.

“Connor,” Evan interrupts, before the other boy can pull him back onto the cushions. His legs go stiff beneath him, his heart lurching into an embarrassing drumroll of palpitations. “Do you really mean it?”

Turning back, Connor’s eyebrow quirks in question and Evan takes a breath, making himself sturdier, hands shaking less and heart racing quieter. “What you said just now. Do you mean it?”

Looking amused, but also like he’s reaching the end of his seemingly endless patience, Connor sighs, and leans back into Evan’s space, close, too close, not close enough.

“I like you so fucking much, Evan.” He says this slowly, like it’s obvious, eyes intently gazing into Evan’s. “I think about you all the goddamn time and it drives me fucking crazy.”

Evan blinks, surprised. 

There’s nothing ambiguous about Connor’s words, and not even Evan’s brain can twist them into something they’re not. Connor _likes_ him. Part of him feels the need the pinch himself just to check that this is really happening.

“Oh, good.” Evan says, stunned but pleased. “That’s great.” 

He bites his lip, feels something warm crest inside his chest. “Same.”

Connor lips part and he flashes Evan a smile. “Same?”

If Connor’s hoping for a fuller explanation, he’s going to be left disappointed, Evan thinks even as his face breaks out into an answering smile. 

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders, like he’s been holding his breath, waiting to feel bad again, but the terrible feeling never comes and instead he’s left feeling uncharacteristically light for once.

“So, you won’t freak out if I kiss you again?” Connor asks. He’s already let go of his hold on Evan’s wrist and has instead begun winding an arm around Evan’s waist, pulling him in.

“I mean, I might,” Evan admits, still half-convinced he’s hallucinating. “But I’ll probably be freaking out for like, happy reasons? Like, holy shit, I can’t believe this is actually happening reasons. Not because I don’t want you to. Because I really do. It’s just that I never actually entertained the thought that you could ever like me back, and I really hope I’m not dreaming this whole thing—” Evan’s hip bumps against Connor’s as he’s tugged forward again, and their chests are so close they’re almost touching. Evan lets out a soft gasp, surprised by the new arrangement, pleased. 

“You’re fucking adorable, you know that?” Connor says.

Evan’s face heats at the compliment, but he doesn’t hide from it like he usually would. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Connor snorts. He dips his head forward, resting his cheek against Evan’s. “Don't think that just because we're having a moment means I'm not going to fix your nails.”

Evan hums, finds himself relaxing into the embrace. “You're going to have to. They're a fucking mess now.”

“It's fine,” Connor murmurs back. Evan can feel his grin. “It's worth it.”


End file.
